


A Fool's Crime

by literary_potato



Series: Star Wars: The Old Republic [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Love, Loyalty, Revenge, SW:TOR, SWTOR, Sith Warrior - Freeform, Star Wars - Freeform, ishtaa, malavai, malavai quinn - Freeform, old republic, star wars: the old republic - Freeform, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 50,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_potato/pseuds/literary_potato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishtaa, a young Sith on the rise, seeks to avenger her parents' deaths at the hands of the Jedi. Scenes from life of a Sith Warrior, following her journey from apprentice to Wrath. Sith Warrior/Malavai Quinn, but not strictly romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the Sith Warrior plotline of Star Wars: The Old Republic.

They tell me I was born a Jedi, or rather, that both of my parents were.

My mother was beautiful. I have her face supposedly: small and delicate, with lips a little too big to be "pretty" in the ordinary sense. A kind face, everyone called it, although I suppose that view might be tainted by the speaker's knowledge of her personality. But I failed to inherit her eyes, brown and doe-like, and her smile, which I'm told was her most extraordinary feature. She was always smiling.

My father rarely smiled, and I suppose I must have inherited that from him. Serious, with a face simultaneously razor-sharp and weathered with years of thinking, always thinking. He had a keen mind and a keener tongue if the stories I'm told are any indication. That must have been what attracted my mother to him, for he wasn't a particularly handsome man apart from his flashing green eyes that frequently lit up with private sarcasm.

I know none of this first-hand, of course. Both of my parents died when I was very young. The Jedi killed them, slaughtered them for daring to love.

It was my birth that gave them away. They could only hide me, a force-sensitive child, for so long.

They didn't put up a fight, so I'm told. They simply stood there, looking into each other's' eyes as the lightsabers tore them to shreds in a blaze of blue and green.

It was a beggar who saved me—an old woman. My parents gave her every material possession they owned in exchange for a single promise: that she protect me. And she did. She stole me away and took me to Korriban, where I was taken in. The moment they saw me, they knew that I was strong with the Force.

They sent me away to be trained, and for nineteen years I have sweated and shed my blood working towards this day. Today I return to Korriban.

I am Ishtaa. I am Sith. I will destroy the Jedi for what they have done.

I will avenge my parents' love.


	2. Dromund Kaas

"You!"

The slave's words stopped her cold. Ishtaa froze, in the midst of carving her path of bloody destruction through the battlefield. Her scarlet blade trembled inches from the slave's throat.

"You? What do you mean you?"

The slave licked his lips, thin parched lines in a withered face. "It's you. You're the child. You're the impossible child"

Ishtaa gritted her teeth. She seized the man by his collar, hoisting him up off the ground by his neck. "Stop talking nonsense, old man. What do you mean I'm the impossible child? What are you talking about? Answer me!"

The slave choked and gagged, struggling to breath against Ishtaa's death grip. She dropped him to the ground unceremoniously, pressing the tip of her lightsaber against his throat.

"This is your last chance, slave," she hissed.

The old man didn't tremble. He simply laughed, a deathly quiet sound.

"I know…your face…You look…just like your mother."

Ishtaa snarled. With a sharp twist, she drove the blade through the old man's throat.

He was dead before her lightsaber even made contact.


	3. Balmorra

"I apologize, sir. It was the best I could do."

Quinn's lip curled. He lunged forward to grab the corporal by his collar, fury burning in his chest. "If that's your best, you're useless to me," he snarled. The corporal's eyes widened in terror, flitting around helplessly under Quinn's piercing glower. "I can shoot you dead with a clear conscience. Is that what you want?"

The blond man swallowed. "No, sir," he squeaked.

"Then focus, Jillins," Quinn snapped, shoving the corporal away from him. "Dismissed."

Quinn seethed silently as the corporal scampered away. Incompetence, that's what it was. Pure, unadulterated incompetence. Even the other officers were for the most part useless, always handing all but the most top secret tasks to him when they became too difficult. How the Empire was still standing with such lazy, stupid, morally flimsy buffoons was a mystery to him. He could only imagine that its ideals, pillars of order and security, were somehow holding it up despite a veritable sea of worthless peons.  
He would have liked very much to have said more to Jillins regarding his lack of focus, but his attention was diverted by a figure at the door. His heart swelled with hope. Now here was an individual worth his effort. He had heard much of the new Sith from Lord Baras: strong, skilled with a lightsaber, loyal—yet unafraid to voice dissent to his master on occasion, much to Baras' displeasure—tenacious, observant, cunning. Quinn could hardly wait to meet—

Her.

The Sith was a woman.

Quinn froze in astonishment. Somehow it had not occurred to him that Baras' talented apprentice could be a woman. More than that, he noticed as he sized her up with a once-over glance, she was—and he could hardly believe he was saying this—lovely.

His hopes wilted slightly. It wouldn't be the first time one of his superiors had made an error in judgment over an attractive female, choosing a pretty face over worthy talent. Perhaps this was more of the same.

Then again, he thought as he caught a glimpse of the apprentice's flashing green eyes, maybe not.

\------------------------------

There was a tap on the door.

Quinn looked up from his datapad. "Enter."

"Sir." A red-haired corporal entered. "Captain Rigel reports that Operation Breaking Point is a success."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. "Really? So soon?" He blinked several times, shaking his head. "Well," he said, puzzled, "that's excellent news. Send him my regards."

"Yes, sir."

Quinn was still frowning as he returned his attention to the datapad. Operation Breaking Point…a success? It had only been in effect for a few days.

Perhaps, he considered hopefully, the troops were finally becoming competent.

He had just begun to engross himself in his datapad when he heard another tap at the door.

He looked up, expecting the red-haired corporal to be back with some trivial nonsense about Operation Breaking Point. It was with great surprise that he saw a gawky, pink-faced private waiting to be heard.

"Sir." The private stood at attention.

"Yes, what do you want?" Quinn asked impatiently.

"Lieutenant Thorpe reports that his attempt to obtain cyborg technology from the resistance movement has been successful. Technicians are working to reconfigure the technology to the Empire's needs as we speak, sir."

"What?"

The private squirmed. "Lieutenant Thorpe—"

"I heard you the first time, private," Quinn said, holding up his hand for silence. "Tell Lieutenant Thorpe I have been informed of his progress, and I congratulate him on his efforts."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Quinn pursed his lips as the private left. Two successes in one day. In theory, he supposed, he ought to be thrilled with news that underlings were finally getting something accomplished. But coming from an Imperial base where one accomplished mission a month was considered a great success…

He was overthinking the matter. He knew he should be pleased that things were going so well.

Chiding himself for being petty, he returned to his datapad.

He was promptly interrupted by another knock at the door.

Looking up, he saw not one but two men standing in the doorway.

He set his datapad down on the table with a thud. "Let me guess," he said sardonically, "you've come to tell me that Cavill Arin's anti-stealth endeavor is a success."

The two men glanced at each other.

"Er…no, sir."

"I've been sent to inform you that the Balmorran Arms Factory's security has been shut down and Defense Minister Vol Argen killed."

"And you?" Quinn gestured to the other man.

"I've just come from Lieutenant Treshoda's office, sir. She's been put in contact with a Balmorran turncoat."

"Turncoat? To our side, you mean?"

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Treshoda says he could provide valuable information."

Quinn frowned, rising from his desk.

"Wait here," he ordered.

The two men saluted him as he strode across the room. He turned the corner expecting to leave his office, but was caught off-guard by three more soldiers standing in the corridor. As he stood there in shock, a fourth one appeared.

"What the hell is going on?" Quinn demanded.

A fifth soldier, this one a woman, came into view. "Sir," she began.

"Alright, into my office," Quinn snapped. "All of you. Now. And stay put."

With a chorus of "yes, sirs," four of the soldiers obediently went into his office.

Quinn stormed out to find Imperial intelligence. It was a Republic plot, he was sure of it. A trap, to lure them into a false sense of security. There was no other explanation. The day's success rate defied statistical and common sense.

"Sir." The fifth soldier was at his heels, attempting to keep up.

"My office, corporal, that's an order."

"Sir," the woman persisted, "it's important."

Quinn crossed his arms. "This had best be urgent. Name?"

"Corporal Sharpe, sir. Captain Hooper wished to convey to you that he has seen your new colleague in action, and is very impressed."

"My what? New colleague? What are you—"

All at once, the pieces fell into place. The sudden successes, the wave of positive reports all across Balmorra. It was her.

He swallowed. "I see," he said grudgingly. "Dismissed."

He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he slowly returned to his office. This Sith was even greater than he had expected.

What was he saying? She had shattered his expectations. Utterly obliterated them.

He allowed himself a private smile. He supposed he would have to adjust his calculations. He had never been more pleased to be wrong.


	4. Balmorra

As she left the house, it was all she could do not to turn around, lightsaber blazing, and kill the man inside.

Fool, she thought to herself. Fool.

For what other word could there be to describe someone who would marry a traitor?

Love. She scoffed. If the man honestly didn't know his wife would betray him, then he never loved her to begin with. And if he did…

Well, then, his love made him a traitor, if you could call feelings for someone so unworthy love.

Either way, it was a crime.

A fool's crime.


	5. Baras

Baras clasped his hands behind his back as he paced his quarters in thought.

Things were going better than even he could have planned. True, it had been his intent all along that Quinn should join his apprentice's crew, but he had anticipated that some persuasion might be involved. Instead, Quinn had practically leapt at the chance to join the apprentice's company.

Perhaps he had foreseen his master's plans. Baras frequently employed his followers as spies; the lieutenant might have recognized Ren-Kala as a valuable target. Such initiative would be a first, but within the realm of possibility. Quinn was a bright fellow—certainly he was much brighter than most of his Imperial comrades—and he was unfailingly loyal to Baras and the Empire.

Baras reached out with the Force curiously, searching for the signature that marked Quinn's mind. He sifted through the others—the Twi'lek's flittering, chattering bundle of emotion; the steady, pulsing halo of his apprentice.

There. He found it: a tightly wound sphere of focused energy. In another world, Baras mused, Quinn would have been at home among the Jedi. His emotions were skillfully veiled and suppressed; a lesser Sith might not have detected them at all.

But then, out of nowhere, they surged. Respect, admiration, dedication, attraction. Quinn's feelings exploded outwards like a shockwave.

Baras smirked. Of course. The man was smitten with Ishtaa.

This was better than Baras could have dreamed. It threw his previous plans out the window in the short term, but in the end, it would be the girl's destruction.

It was moments like these that Baras almost understood the Jedi code. Those light-sided fools might be naïve, but they were right to prohibit love. Love was dangerous. Love was a weapon, as easy to use for destruction as it was for creation.

After all, it was love that brought his apprentice here.


	6. Fury

"Come on," Vette whined, "let me shoot."

"Not yet," Ishtaa snapped. "I want the element of surprise."

The ship shuddered violently.

2V staggered into the compartment. "Master, I believe we are under attack."

"I've noticed," she replied acidly. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and eyed the battle for an opening.

The ship rattled as it took another hit.

"Can the element of surprise hurry up?" asked Vette, her voice rising in panic.

"Wait for her signal." Quinn glanced at Ishtaa in his peripheral vision. "Your master knows what she's doing."

Ishtaa smiled faintly. Quinn acknowledged the gesture with an almost imperceptible nod.

"There," he finally said to Vette, pointing. "Those turrets up ahead are doing the most damage. They must think we're no threat. They're focusing all of their fire on other targets."

"Their mistake, our victory. The plan is working." Ishtaa stood up and stepped down from the small podium where she sat, her eyes never leaving the battle as she moved to stand behind Vette. "Fire on the turrets. On my signal. Three…two…" She could almost read the text embossed on the side of the turret. "Now, Vette!"

Vette responded with a volley of blasts, leaving a trail of smoldering crater's in the Fury's wake. The strength of the explosions rocked the entire ship.

"That should cripple them."

"My lord, fighters coming in!"

His words were met with a flurry of incoming red blasts.

Ishtaa's eyes hardened. "Dance around them if you can," she ordered. "Vette, fire at will."

One by one, the fighters went up in flames.

"Damn," hissed Vette. "One got away."

"Pursue him."

Quinn looked up. "My lord, might I suggest a different tactic?"

"If you do so quickly."

"Tailing the pilot may, depending on his skill, take a long time and leave us open to attack. It would be much more efficient to go around and intercept him from the front."

She paused to consider. "Belay my last order. Steer to intercept."

"Yes, my lord."

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Quinn piloted the ship off-course to turn about and meet the fighter another way. Ishtaa crossed the cockpit and stood behind him, monitoring his progress.

A moment later, the Republic fighter reappeared in the Fury's view.

"Prepare a missile," Ishtaa ordered. "I want this skirmish to end with a bang."

"Yes, sir!"

The fighter made no attempt to flee.

Ishtaa frowned. "Why isn't he moving?"

"I calculated our angle of approach so that we would be in his blind spot, my lord. He doesn't see us."

"And he never will. Fire."

Vette gleefully pushed the red button. There was a short pause and then…

"By the Maker!"

The entire ship shook with the strength of the shockwaves. Ishtaa, caught off-guard by the intensity of the blast, stumbled forward. She might have fallen over if not for her quick reflexes and the chair in front of her. She braced herself against the chair back, digging her fingers in to compensate for the instability of her feet. It was only after she regained her balance that she noticed she was grabbing something warm.

"Sorry, Captain," she said, removing her hands from Quinn's shoulders immediately. She brushed off the front of her robes.

"No apology necessary." His voice sounded strained, Ishtaa thought. Probably he was trying to be polite, or else not let on that her grip had hurt. No matter; she hadn't grabbed him nearly hard enough to actually injure him.

"Vette, would you please go deal with 2V? He sounds like he's on the verge of a circuit breakdown."

"Yeah, sure." Rolling her eyes, Vette slouched off to the galley. Just before she left, she muttered under her breath: "Stupid droid."

Ishtaa sighed and, stretching, stumbled into the seat Vette had vacated. "Get us out of here, Captain."

"Right away, my lord." He pushed a few buttons and then, returning to the steering wheel, said, "You may want to hold on. With all the wreckage floating around, this could be a rough exit."

"Noted."

With a tiny lurch, the Fury began to move forward under Quinn's control.

Ishtaa breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Despite all the things Vette said about him whenever he was out of earshot (and, quite often, when he could hear her perfectly well) Ishtaa liked having Quinn in her crew. As much as she enjoyed the sisterly banter she shared with Vette, it was nice to have someone calm and stable on board. Sometimes, when the Twi'lek's chatter started pounding at her temples, she would retreat to the oasis of the bridge and do her work there. Quinn never disturbed her or commented on the matter. He did his work, and she did hers.

Opening her eyes slightly, she studied him in her peripheral vision. He was doing it again, she mentally noted with a smile. It was the face he made whenever he was concentrating on something. She had first picked up on it during one of her bridge work sessions, but as time went on she noticed that he often did it when he had to patch her up in the field. It wasn't an angry face, quite, or just a furrowed brow. It was a thinking face, and that was the only proper name she could conceive for it.

She started as the ship rolled to one side and turned upside down. Before she had time to properly process this fact, the ship had righted itself and Quinn made the jump into hyperspace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Quinn's thinking face had disappeared and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Quinn?" she asked, bemused. "Was that…a barrel roll?"

He turned pink and his smile dropped. "Apologies, my lord. That was not entirely necessary."

"No, no. It's alright. Relax," she said, seeing the mixture of embarrassment and anxiety still written on his face. "I'm not going to force-choke you." She smiled, not mockingly, but with a hint of amused sarcasm. "It's just somewhat unusual, that's all. I didn't take you for one to do tricks."

"Of course, my lord." And then, as if the words were spilling forth of their own volition: "I sometimes like to revel in the aftermath of a victory." He clamped his mouth shut, reasserting control over the unbidden word vomit.

Ishtaa's smile softened, her sarcasm fading in favor of an understanding sympathy.

"I daresay you earned it," she said. "That was some of the finest piloting I've ever seen."

Quinn's blush deepened. It was a marvel his skin didn't catch fire. "Thank you, my lord."

"No need. I'm merely stating fact. You're an excellent pilot."

He made no reply.

They said nothing for several moments, but it was not the comfortable silence that usually inhabited the bridge. It was a strange, stiff silence full of uncertainty and impulse to speak, mingled with hesitance to go out on a limb.

It was Ishtaa who finally spoke.

"Why were you never promoted?"

Quinn grimaced. For the first time in the weeks she had known him, she sensed feelings radiating from him. They rolled out in waves, battering her with a sense of hatred and disgust.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Forget I said anything."

"No," he said hurriedly. "I must."

"That wasn't an order, Quinn," she said; from the look on his face, she knew that the intentional use of his surname was not lost on him. "It was an overly personal question. One you shouldn't feel obligated to answer if you do not wish to do so."

"Respectfully, my lord, I believe I am fully obligated to answer. Not," he added, sensing that she was about to disagree, "because you are my superior officer, but because you have put a great deal of faith in me. You deserve to know."

Ishtaa hesitated.

"Very well."


	7. Sharack Breev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are music geeks like me, I'm dying to know what the music that plays during Quinn's first flirt option is. (The one about being "excited," etc.)

Her heart stopped. It had been twenty-two years since she had seen such green eyes, and she had hoped never to see them again.

For a horrible moment, she panicked, thinking the Sith recognized her face. No, she thought. That would be impossible. The girl had been merely a baby when Sharack had taken her to Korriban.

She tried to push the thought from her mind. It was unlikely that the girl knew the truth. Ruminating would only stir her emotions, make the Sith more likely to sense her fear.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was recognition in the girl's face.


	8. Tatooine

With a growl, Ishtaa drove her lightsabers into the beast's belly. The thing gave a long, disgustingly moist dying sound as the Sith deluminated her sabers.

"I expected that to be a difficult fight."

She raised an eyebrow. "Against womp rats?" she scoffed. "Your lack of faith disturbs me." Her last comment might have been terrifying coming from the mouth of an ordinary Sith. But Quinn knew the face she put on too well to be concerned. She was teasing him again, that was all. Not terribly surprising, seeing as he had meant his initial comment to be taken with a hint of sarcasm—in compliance with her orders, of course; she had told him to loosen up.

He was about to make a pithy reply when a gash on Ishtaa's stomach stole his attention.

"You're injured."

"What?" She glanced down. "Oh, that's nothing," she said, brushing her fingers against the wound to heal it. "Just a minor flesh wound."

Quinn wasn't convinced. It wasn't deep, and the skin wove itself back together normally under Ishtaa's glowing red fingertips, but he caught the split second flinch that crossed her face as she made contact with the raw skin.

She glared at him when he began to pull out a medical probe. "I said I'm fine, Captain. No need to waste supplies."

"With all due respect, my lord, I don't believe ensuring your good health is a waste of anything."

"Forget it," she snapped. "That's an order."

"I—" He saw the steel in her eyes and knew that it was no use arguing. "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now press on. We have a lot of ground to cover if we're to return to the ship before dark."

Quinn nodded mutely. He forced himself to push the conversation from his thoughts and focus on his duties. Intuition or not, his master was in all likelihood fine. What could happen?

 

Ishtaa went out alone the next day to join a team of bounty hunters and imperial agents on an errand in the Dune Sea. Since there was no telling how long it would be until she finished the job, Quinn, Vette, and 2V settled in for a day off.

Anxious to take advantage of the peace and quiet (Vette was mercifully absent, amusing herself in the galley by attempting to teach 2V to cheat at Sabaac), Quinn dove into his private work the moment Ishtaa left. Apart from the momentary break he took to sneak past Vette (whose original lesson had branched out into Twi'lek and Huttese curse words) and get some food from the galley, he scarcely raised his eyes from his datapad all day—until his holo started beeping.

He immediately recognized the signature as his master's. He answered. "I take it your mission was successful, my lord."

It was then that he realized he was not speaking to Ishtaa, but to a helmet-clad bounty hunter.

"My name is Arewal Sim," the bounty hunter said, the vocal distortion of his helmet amplified by the holo. "Who is this?"

Quinn's voice hardened. "That's not important. The holo you're using belongs to a Sith apprentice. Where did you get it?"

The bounty hunter's image flickered before coming back into view. "I know who it belongs to, Imperial. We were working together until she fell—"

The bounty hunter kept speaking, but Quinn wasn't listening. It felt like all the air was being sucked from his lungs. He could hear it rushing, almost pounding in his eardrums.

"Is she alive?"

"Barely." The bounty hunter glanced at something Quinn couldn't see. Through the static, he could hear two other voices. "She's hanging on somehow, but if she doesn't get medical attention soon—"

"She will," Quinn said briskly. "Stay put."

"Roger that. You'd better hurry."

Quinn turned off the holo and bolted from the room.

Vette poked her head into the hall as he hurried past her. "What's going on?"

He paused in the doorway. "When I depart, set up the medical bay as well as you can. Get 2V to help you."

"What?"

He turned without answering and proceeded to gather up the various medical supplies strewn about his quarters, cramming them unceremoniously into the small box he usually carried.

"Quinn!" Vette scurried into his room, her lekku swishing about behind her. "What's going on?"

"Your master collapsed in the middle of her mission. She needs proper medical help."

Vette's eyes widened. "Ishtaa's hurt?! Oh my gods, is she okay?"

"Well, if she was, she wouldn't exactly need my help, would she?"

Vette ignored his sarcasm. She crossed her arms. "I'm going with you," she said stubbornly.

"No."

"Yes." She positioned herself in the doorway so Quinn could not get out.

"Absolutely not. Let me through."

"Let me go with you."

His scowl deepened. "I've already told you," he snapped, "no. You'll only get in my way if you come along—much like you are right now, I might point out. Now get out of my way or I will make you get out of the way."

"Not happening. If Ishtaa's in trouble, I'm coming with you."

Quinn gritted his teeth, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed.

"Alright. Don't make me regret this."

Vette grinned. "Atta boy—sir," she added hurriedly, seeing the look on his face. "Atta sir."

He tried not to roll his eyes. "2V!" he shouted.

"Yes, Captain!"

"Execute Special Order 46." Without waiting to hear the droid's reply, he strode from the room, with Vette close behind him.

He only hoped he was not too late.


	9. Tatooine

A blur of light.

A flash of color.

A voice, distant through her foggy mind.

"My lord—"

"Ishtaa! Ishtaa!"

Her head lolled to one side. She groaned indistinctly.

A hand on her forehead, cool and reassuring.

"Vette?" she mumbled. "Vette, is that you?"

A feminine sigh of relief replied.

The hand brushed down the side of her face, fingertips pushing her messy hair away.

"She's alive."

"She'll recover."

Too big to be Vette's hand.

A wave of pain in her head, pounding. A lash across her stomach.

She cried out.

The hand left her body.

Green lights flickering behind her eyelids.

Words in and out of hearing.

Pain. Shock. Sedatives. Take effect.

Nothing.


	10. Interlude

Under Quinn and Vette's care, Ishtaa recovered from her bout of womp rat fever. Embarrassed by what she perceived to be a display of weakness—particularly in front of the only two people whose opinions she ever truly cared about—she pressed on with renewed intensity.

After a long search, she finally located Master Yonlach amidst the sand dunes of Tatooine. Initially angered by Yonlach's incapacitation of Quinn and taken off-guard by his comments about his 'feelings' for her, she lashed out at the old man and his apprentice. Once they were at her mercy, however, she spared their lives.

Ishtaa hurried to Alderaan where she met with the sleazy Duke Kendoh. Revolted by his bootlicking and lechery, she barely tolerated his presence, dealing instead with his Sith guard Fimmress whenever possible. When her business on Alderaan was finished, she discovered that Kendoh had attempted to pin one of his decisions upon her. Incensed, she ordered Fimmress to kill his former master.

After departing from Alderaan, Ishtaa was contacted by Jaesa Wilsaam herself. The girl, having sensed her parents' change of loyalty to the Empire, decided that she was unwilling to put any more loved ones in harm's way. However, Nomen Karr interfered. An undeterred Ishtaa killed one of his Jedi and spared another before travelling to Hutta, where she met Nomen Karr face to face…


	11. Hutta

Ishtaa sneered as she held the blade to Nomen Karr's neck.

She wanted to kill him.

It was men like him who had killed her parents: hypocrites, Jedi whose pretensions of peace were mere facades, suppressing the brutal beasts that lurked within. At least the Sith were honest about their vicious, power-hungry nature.

I want to kill him. The thought pounded in her skull. I want to avenge my parents.

Yet, as she stared down at him, his face glowing gold in the yellow light of her lightsaber, she felt the impulse wither and die.

She realized as she looked down the bridge of her nose at him, her stomach twisting with a mixture of pity and revulsion, that he was beneath her.

Her lip curled. She sheathed her lightsaber.

"You are despicable."

\-------------------------------------------------------------

She could feel Quinn's gaze on the side of her face.

"If you have something to say, Captain, spit it out."

He glanced away, embarrassed.

"Sorry, my lord. It's just…I was merely wondering why you spared his life. His death would have drawn Jaesa just as well as his current, living anguish, if not more effectively."

Ishtaa gritted her teeth. There it was, out in the open. For a moment, she considered telling him all—her parents, the vendetta, everything. But then…She knew how he felt about letting emotions cloud one's judgment.

"There was no need," she said finally. "He was at my mercy."

She swallowed, debating whether or not she should say more.

Quinn was quiet when he spoke again. He lowered his eyes seriously. "You didn't wish to sink to his level." It was not a question.

Ishtaa turned to look at Quinn. Force-insensitive or no, Quinn was one of the most perceptive people she had ever met. He knew. Somehow, without her telling him, he had her all figured out.

Quinn, noticing her lack of a response, raised his eyes to meet hers. She felt once more compelled to reveal everything, to tell him the story from the beginning. But there was no need. He already, in his own peculiar, analytical way, knew.

"Yes," she answered simply.


	12. Hutta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Differs somewhat from the in-game version of this scene.

Ishtaa's bright green eyes went wide, her cheeks turning pale. "No," she said forcefully. "Jaesa, don't you dare—"

Ignoring her, Jaesa closed her eyes and reached out.

Almost immediately, she recoiled, taken aback by the immense strength of Ishtaa's signature. The Force rolled off of her in bright, gleaming waves that burned and flared as they met Jaesa's skin, filling her with warmth and purpose. Far from the harsh, bitter vacuum of the Dark Side, or the passionless sphere of the Council—cool and smooth like marble—Ishtaa's presence was different. It was adrenaline and serenity, the thrill of righteous fury sated in the wake of a victory and the thrum of laughter.

It was glorious.

When Jaesa opened her eyes, she saw with astonishment that Ishtaa's eyes were shining.

"You mustn't tell anyone," she breathed, her voice raw and shuddering. "The truth…what I am…no one must know." She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes.

"Let me join you."

Ishtaa stared. "What?"

"What you have…I want that. Let me come with you, be your apprentice. I can help you."

"I don't…" Ishtaa sighed. "What I am...Learning to be like me…It'll be dangerous."

"I don't care. I've seen what you've done, and I've felt your power. I've never seen anyone do what you've done. You feel, you love, you feed on passion, and yet your actions reflect only light. You appear to be an agent of the dark side, but it's a mask." Jaesa's eyes flashed. "All my life I've put up with deceit and denial. I thought the Jedi would be different. You showed me otherwise." She grasped the Sith's hands, her eyes still gleaming with the impressions of Ishtaa's nature. "Please. Show me to walk the light path. The true light path."

"Jaesa…"

Both jumped at the unexpected growl. They had nearly forgotten that Karr was still present.

"I'll see that the Jedi disavow you," he spat. "You will be labeled an enemy of the order."

"She will not be alone."

Jaesa's face lit up.

"Then I will go with you?" she asked. "I can stand by your side, as your apprentice?"

Ishtaa met the girl's wide-eyed look evenly. "Baras feared your power. As an enemy of the Jedi, I feared your power also. But as an agent of true light…" She trailed off. Slowly, thoughtfully, she nodded. "I sense that we could do great things, you and I."


	13. Fury

Quinn cursed and yanked his fingers back from the engine, waving them about to ease the sting.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He glared at the blue Twi'lek in the doorway.

"Don't you have something to do?" he asked irritably, grabbing a wrench from his toolkit. "Slicing? Sleeping? Reprogramming 2V for the tenth time this week?"

"Nah, Ish isn't up yet and I just finished with 2V last night." She examined her nails casually. "He speaks Jawa now, in case you were wondering."

"Does he now?" Quinn asked through gritted teeth.

Vette rolled her eyes. "Don't get too excited, Captain. Someone might actually think you have a sense of humor."

He didn't feel any need to reply to that comment. Vette stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to respond. When it became clear that he wasn't planning to answer, she began wandering about the engine room aimlessly. Quinn briefly considered kicking her out, but it occurred to him that she would probably find some other, even more obnoxious way to irk him.

She peered over his shoulder. "You tightened the reactor bolt too far."

He turned to face her, forcing himself to smile benignly. "What do you want, Vette?"

The twi'lek threw her hands up innocently. "Why do you have to be so hostile? I just wanted to chat!"

Quinn's scowl returned. "I seem to recall your master spoke to you about chatting."

"Ishtaa told me to stop bugging you about Moff Broysc," she said. "She didn't say anything about chatting."

Sighing, Quinn rubbed his temples wearily. "An omission I will soon remedy."

"You don't even know what I was going to talk to you about."

"No," he said. "But I know that it was you planning to do the talking. I think that's sufficient."

"What, are you going to rat me out to 'my master?'" Vette made a face and puffed her chest out. "My lord," she said mockingly, "Vette was attempting to be social in direct violation of section seven, paragraph C—"

"A word to the wise," Quinn said coolly, "don't pursue a career in acting or espionage. That was the worst Imperial accent I've ever heard."

She ignored his comment. "Why do you call her 'my lord?'"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "It's military protocol," he answered, genuinely confused. Was she really curious about procedure? "Superiors are to be addressed as masculine, regardless of gender. Calling her 'my lady…'"

"That's not what I meant," Vette interrupted. "I mean, why don't you just call her Ishtaa like everybody else on this ship?"

He froze. This was dangerous territory.

At last, he shrugged, forcing himself to remain casually aloof. "Like I said: it's military protocol."

"Yeah, and I'm the Emperor's daughter. Last time I checked, it's protocol to do what your master wants, and I'm pretty sure she prefers her name."

"That may be the case," he answered, more firmly than was really necessary, "but I prefer to use her proper title, a fact I believe she understands."

Vette wrinkled her nose. "Why? It's so formal."

"I like formal."

"Yeah," she said, chuckling, "I got that. But why are you so afraid of being informal?" A look of understanding crossed her face. "Oh my gosh. You like her."

"I hardly see how that's some big epiphany," he said disdainfully. "I would never have come aboard this ship if I disliked her." Vette crossed her arms skeptically. Quinn squirmed at the silence. "We work well together. She's efficient, intelligent, honorable, powerful…"

"Cute."

He grimaced. "'Cute' is not the word I would use."

Vette put her hands on her hips, grinning. "But there is a word you would use?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions, apart from to annoy me?"

"Are you seriously blushing right now?"

Quinn ducked his head, embarrassed. "If you're not going to say something useful, I'd appreciate it if you could leave. I need to fix this engine before we can travel to Dromund Kaas."

"Alright, alright, I'll leave you alone. But you should really talk to Ishtaa. Wouldn't want your distraction to keep you from 'peak efficiency.'"

He shot her a glare. Tossing her lekku over her shoulder with a childish grin, Vette sprang into a mock salute and then exited, leaving Quinn alone to fix the engine…and mull things over in peace.


	14. Fury

Quinn kept glancing at her. She was leaning back in her chair on the verge of dozing off, her eyes almost shut. He probably thought she couldn't see her.

She let him continue for several minutes. She had to suppress a smile multiple times; he was just so nervous. Whatever it was that was making him so edgy, it was amusing to watch.

Her curiosity got the better of her when she noticed him setting his jaw and standing up even straighter than he usually did.

"Something the matter, Captain?"

He jumped visibly. "No," he stammered. "Nothing at all."

She turned to look at him openly. He wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were instead fixed stubbornly on some point out in space. She wasn't fooled. For one thing, she could sense his anxiety through the Force, his aura pulsing in sync with his pounding heartbeat. For another, was blushing furiously.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she nodded. "Very well." She felt Quinn's eyes on her again as she stretched and rose from her chair. She had almost made it to the doorway when he gave in.

"Actually, there was one thing I've been meaning to ask you…"

She smiled. "By all means."

Quinn cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Well…you've caused me some difficulty and I'd like to confirm that it was unintended." He paused as if waiting for her to reply. When she responded with a confused eyebrow, he continued. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken," he said, stumbling slightly over his words, "but some time ago it seems you expressed an interest in me beyond our professional relationship."

Ishtaa blinked several times. Now it was her turn to blush slightly. Flirting with Quinn had been an impulse. The first time it was because of his word choice. Since then it had become a game, testing how much it took to get him to drop his professionalism and show some emotion.

"I've given it no further thought," she said. "A momentary amusement, that's all."

The instant she had said it, she regretted it. The truth was, she liked flirting with him, liked seeing him act like a human being instead of a droid wearing a uniform. She liked that she could unsettle him so easily. More than that, she realized, she couldn't imagine going into battle without him. True, she had gotten along without him before they met, and she enjoyed Vette and Jaesa's company, but when she went to the most dangerous planets, into the most brutal battles, he was the only one she wanted by her side and the only one who she knew, without a doubt, would have her back.

But the words were said. To take them back now would seem an afterthought.

So when Quinn gave her a shaky smile, she let him answer without interruption. "Ah," he said, sounding almost relieved, "then all is well." He swallowed heavily, his calm expression flickering for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. "Forget I brought it up."

She nodded. "Understood."

And she left.


	15. Taris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Differs slightly from the in-game version, because it doesn't make sense for Quinn to say "you know how I feel" if he hasn't told the SW anything yet.

“Vault code sequence arming.”

Quinn drummed his fingers as a mechanical voice broke out over the whine of the alarms. He raised his eyes from the vault keypad where Ishtaa was typing furiously. He allowed himself a long look at her face in profile, one he never would have given her if her back was not turned, taking comfort in the familiar expression: one of absolute focus on the task at hand, her concentration blocking out any trace of fear or doubt.

“The reactor core will self-destruct in sixty seconds.” 

A chilling thought crossed his mind. What if after all they had lived and fought through, this was the end? What if, despite the determination etched into Ishtaa’s face and frame, they couldn’t make it into the vault in time? 

“Vault code sequence initiating.”

He wetted his lips anxiously. “The imposter’s estimate had better be right,” he said. “If this takes more than a minute, we’ll be caught in the explosion.”

“Just sit tight.” Ishtaa continued to type unperturbed, her voice as calm as Quinn had ever heard it. “I’m sure this will work.”

“Of course, my lord.” He lowered his head somewhat sheepishly.

“The reactor core will self-destruct in forty-five seconds.” 

The timer’s announcement shook Quinn’s attempt at bravado. Trying not to let his panic show, he turned around, glancing about the room just in time to see a group of Republic commandos try to sneak up on the pair.

He froze. “My lord, to complicate the matter, it seems we have been spotted.” 

That caught Ishtaa’s attention. Abruptly breaking away from the keypad, she spun around, hands flying instinctively to her lightsabers. 

“Blast,” she hissed. Drawing her weapons, she turned to Quinn. “Take over. Keep trying to get into the vault.”

“But if one of them should shoot you—”

“You can deal with my injuries once we’re inside the vault,” she snapped, “since I suspect stitching together bits of exploded Sith is a bit beyond your capabilities.”

Reluctantly, he nodded. He began trying to slice into the vault, ignoring the sounds of battle just behind him. He stopped himself from turning around twice, but he couldn’t keep from wincing when he heard the sound of blaster fire grazing skin. Mercifully, he didn’t have to endure long.

“Move over.” 

“That was quick,” he said mildly as he stepped aside. 

“They were weak.” She resumed working, her fingers beginning to fumble in her haste. “What’s our status?”

“The immediate threat has been quelled. However, this place will explode in exactly ten seconds…” Twelve…Eleven… “Now.”

“The reactor core will self-destruct in ten seconds.”

Something like a grimace flashed across Ishtaa’s face. Quinn saw her throat tighten as she swallowed, the only betrayal of uncertainty in her otherwise calm façade. 

If he hadn’t been seen her lips move, he would not have heard her speak, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “If there’s something you want to say before the end, now’s the time.” 

“I…” His voice failed. His thoughts raced, a million ideas running through his head. There were so many things he never had the chance to say, could never admit. His heart thudded in his chest, beating out an off-kilter rhythm against his ribs. This was his last chance. There was nothing left to lose.

With some effort, he forced himself to speak through the lump in his throat. 

I love you.

But that wasn’t what came out. “I’m sorry you never got the chance to avenge your parents’ deaths,” he said thickly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help you.”

Ishtaa stopped typing and looked at him, taken aback by his words. For a moment, they stared at each other, the alarms and the vault completely forgotten. 

“The reactor core will self-destruct in five seconds.” 

Ishtaa visibly jumped and resumed her work at a frantic pace. At long last, the vault let out mechanical hiss. 

“Vault lock disarming.” 

“Four.”

“Vault door airlock releasing.”

“Three.”

“Vault open.”

Ishtaa grabbed his hand.

“Get inside!” she shouted, pulling him in the direction of the door.

“Right behind you, my lord!”

Diving headlong into the vault from a dead sprint, they staggered inside the vault just before the door closed behind them. As if on cue, an explosion rocked the vault, throwing them both to the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

Ishtaa flew across the cargo hold, the balls of her feet just brushing the ground before taking again to the air on a path towards her target. The practice blade swung true, and hit its mark—just as it had every time she had tried in the last hour.

“Ow.” Jaesa rubbed her arm.

Ishtaa made an irritated noise in her throat as she stowed the practice blade. “Jaesa, it’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am trying!” Jaesa said. She blew her bangs out of her face indignantly. “It’s not my fault you’re not letting me use my powers.”

“You shouldn’t need your powers to fight. They should be a boon to you, not a crutch.” Ishtaa bent Jaesa’s elbows, correcting her form. She sighed. “You understand the techniques, and you know how to execute them. But that’s your problem,” she said. “They shouldn’t be ‘techniques.’ You keep stopping to figure out what your next move should be. I can see it in your face.” She lifted Jaesa’s chin. “Don’t think. Do.” Stepping back, she drew her practice blade. “Ready?”

Jaesa glowered from under her bangs, but nodded. 

Ishtaa nodded also. “Alright,” she said. “On my count. Three…two…” She opened her mouth, her lips forming the shape of the next number. But before she could make any sound, Jaesa sprang into action. Taken off guard, Ishtaa staggered back, and while she was still off-kilter, Jaesa flung her arms out towards her master, tossing her against the railing with a violent force throw. 

Scrambling to regain control, Ishtaa force-grabbed Jaesa’s wrists and squeezed them until the girl finally let her practice blade fall to the floor. The clatter broke Jaesa out of her temper. A look of horror crossed her face. 

“Master…”

“What in the name of the emperor was that?” Ishtaa snapped. 

Jaesa stared at her feet in embarrassment.

Softening, Ishtaa pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. 

“Master, I’m so sorry…”

“No,” Ishtaa said, raising her hand. “It was my fault. I should have realized that asking you to make the transition from Jedi to Sith combat without using the Force or your powers would be too much.” She straightened her practice clothes and, clasping her hands behind her back, began to pace in circles around the girl, studying her.

Jaesa visibly squirmed.

Finally, after a long moment of watching her apprentice like a hawk, Ishtaa let out a quiet ‘hmm.’ She smiled, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I think I have an idea.” 

 

Thirty minutes later, the two women were leaping and darting around each other in perfect synchronicity, the clash of their fight pulsing to the rhythm of music that poured out of Vette’s borrowed speakers. Ishtaa laughed: Jaesa’s practice blade had made contact once again. 

“Yes!” she said, causing her apprentice to beam joyously. “Excellent, Jaesa. Feel the music. Let the song flow through you.” 

Jaesa’s grin widened. Out of nowhere, she sprang into a flip and kicked the practice saber out of her master’s hands, gracefully catching it before it hit the ground.

Ishtaa laughed again as she doubled over to rest her hands on her knees. Her merriment was infectious; Jaesa joined in as she returned the blade, filling the whole room with peals of laughter. 

They were startled out of their mirth by a voice from the door.

“Well done, Jaesa.” 

It was Quinn.

Jaesa flushed. Clearing her throat somewhat guiltily, she dashed to Vette’s speaker system and shut it off. She gave Ishtaa and Quinn each a jerky nod. “Master. Quinn.” And then she scurried from the room, trying not to make eye contact with either of them. For a moment, it looked as if she was suppressing a fit of giggles, but then it vanished into a mask of embarrassment.

Ishtaa turned her attention from Jaesa’s flight to Quinn. “Captain,” she said. “Was the music disturbing you?”

“What?” He blinked, and then shook his head as if to clear it. “No, not at all. Actually, my father used to do something similar when he taught me to fight as a boy.” He smiled faintly. “He was always telling me to ‘harmonize’ with the ‘song of the universe.’”

She frowned. “Really? I didn’t think shooting would lend itself to music.”

“It was hand-to-hand combat,” he explained. “Staffs mostly.” His cheeks tinged pink and he coughed. “Apologies, my lord. I was merely curious what the noise was. I’ll get back to my duties.”

“Now, wait a moment, Quinn.” She put a hand on his shoulder as he turned to leave. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t continue out of the room. She crossed her arms, an amused smile playing across her face. “I didn’t realize there was another crew member with hand-to-hand combat experience. I’m curious.” She extended the second practice blade towards him. “Spar with me.”

He pushed it away gingerly. “My lord, I really don’t think I’d stand a chance—”

“Oh, come on, Captain. Show off a little.” She tossed the blade to him. He didn’t reject it this time, but caught it reflexively. He paused as if realizing he had just signaled his consent. His grimace deepening as he resigned himself, he eased into a fighting stance.

“I’m not sure this will qualify as ‘showing off’ so much as it will ‘making an absolute idiot of myself.’” His words cut off abruptly as Ishtaa swung her blade at his head. He blocked it, the light metal making a resounding ‘clang.’ He raised his eyes to her in surprise. Her grin widened.

“I’ll go easy on you,” she said. 

“That’s comforting.” To her astonishment, she saw that beneath the display of reluctance, the corners of his mouth had turned up into something suspiciously like a smirk. 

And they began: Ishtaa on the offensive, taking gentle swings as she stepped forward. Quinn parried her blows easily, mirroring her footwork in reverse. 

“See? You’re not so out of practice after all.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “I am entirely out of practice. I’m merely compensating with my knowledge of your combat style.”

“Oh, really?” Their blades collided and locked overhead. “And what exactly is my combat style?” 

She broke the connection between their blades, backing away from her opponent. Quinn didn’t follow her this time, but remained stationary as she began to circle him. 

He lowered his blade. “Your movements are very fluid,” he said. “Flexible. A teacher would probably say that your form is somewhat poor, too much bending, too many loose joints, but what you lack in sturdiness you make up for in agility.” Ishtaa’s eyes widened. He had been studying her, it seemed—and he wasn’t finished. “You rarely throw your lightsaber or use the hilt,” he continued. “Instead you use the blade as an extension of your arms and wrists.” She continued pacing around him, too engrossed in his words to resume the fight. “Prone to acrobatics, yet…” His voice took on a strange quality. “Subtle,” he said. “You don’t charge continuously as some Sith do, wearing yourself out. You watch and you wait, lurking on the sidelines, waiting for the moment to strike—”

Hearing the change in his voice, Ishtaa found her opportunity. She leapt through the air towards him, striking for his lower back and found that her blade met metal, not cloth and skin and muscle. 

Adrenaline raced through her veins. No holds barred. This was a fight. Releasing every fragment of tension in her bones, she let her foot fly up towards Quinn’s sword hand: her ankle, her leg, her knee all flowing into one smooth curve that moved in tandem with her body and the rhythm of the battle.

Quinn dodged her kick. Unbalanced she began to fall—only to feel a sturdy hand catch her, quickly joined by an arm that wound around her waist to keep her off the ground. It wasn’t until the fervor of the fight began to wear off that Ishtaa noticed how closely Quinn was holding her…and how his eyes were the deepest shade of blue she had ever seen, how his uniform smelled of something comforting and richly masculine that she couldn’t place but that made her want to keep inhaling for a very long time, how his lips, surrounded by stubble, seemed to be calling her closer and closer…

The world suddenly seemed the wrong-side-up. Ishtaa realized, with an unpleasant drop in her stomach, that Quinn had pulled her upright and set her back on her feet.

“My lord,” he said thickly, “I…Excuse me.”

He practically fled the room. Ishtaa watched him go. Swallowing her humiliation and disappointment, she swung the practice blade so hard that it whistled through the air. Stupid, she told herself. Stupid. 

She had lost to a non-Force-sensitive, and one who hadn’t practiced in years to boot. Her cheeks burned with shame. How could she have lost so easily?

She rationalized that it was simply because she hadn’t been using any Force maneuvers, that Quinn knew her style too well, that she was tired from fighting Jaesa. 

But she knew the truth.

She was a fool for Malavai Quinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Quinn uses a vibroknife, but he does so quite rarely and using a knife is somewhat different from other "hand-to-hand combat." Hence I say he hasn't practiced in a while.
> 
> And, yes, for those of you who were wondering, Malavai Quinn in my headcanon is the son of Vector Hyllus and a female Imperial Agent--Maelia Quinn. Yes, I know that technically the timelines overlap. HOWEVER, the game also gives you the option to make a legacy tree with one toon as the parent/child of another toon, which suggests that there is a little bit of leeway in what timeframe is considered 'canon.' 
> 
> I'm actually considering a spin-off drabble series about Vector and Maelia raising young Malavai. If you're interested, drop a review and I'll take it under advisement. If not, review anyway, because reviews are awesome.


	17. Fury

“Broonmark, no!”

Quinn and Ishtaa’s heads snapped up in unison. They glanced at each other.

“Should we be worried?” Ishtaa asked mildly.

“The absence of bloodcurdling shrieks would suggest not.” Still, he peered at the door with a hint of trepidation. “Then again…”

“I know. Broonmark.” She set her datapad down with a sigh. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

“Will you require backup?”

Ishtaa raised an eyebrow at him. “Quinn,” she said, “if Broonmark ever went on a rampage to the degree that I couldn’t take care of it, I’m not sure a whole battalion would be enough backup.” 

He chuckled. “I don’t doubt that, my lord. Nevertheless,” he said, “if it’s all the same to you, I’d still prefer to assist…if he should scratch you, for instance.” He realized how jumbled his words had come out, and hurried to correct himself. “That is…not that I want to help him scratch you. I only meant…if he did scratch you…”

“You would be there to patch me up, as per usual.” Ishtaa smiled. “I understood your meaning, Captain.”

Quinn was on the verge of answering when a very distressed 2V stumbled into the cockpit.

“Oh dear, oh dear…” 

“Perhaps we’d better hurry and see what’s happening.” 

“Right behind you, my lord.”

 

When the two of them entered the gallery, Vette was tugging on Broonmark’s arm in vain, her feet skidding against the ground with the strain as Pierce looked on with an amused smirk. Ishtaa noticed with some alarm that Broonmark’s white fur was matted and streaked with crimson. 

“Ugh, come on, you furry lump!”

Broonmark gurgled an indignant response.

“What’s going on here?” Ishtaa asked, eyeing the patches of blood cautiously. 

Resigned to the fact that Broonmark simply was not going to budge, the blue Twi’lek released his arm with a sigh. “Apparently,” she said, tossing her lekku over her shoulder and glaring at the enormous Talz, “someone has been saving up the blood of his enemies in a jar, and decided it would be a good idea to drench himself in it. Now he refuses to take a bath.” 

Pierce rolled his eyes. “Ah, don’t mind her, milord. Broonmark’s just havin’ fun, that’s all.” 

“Fun?” Vette sputtered. “He’s caked in blood. He smells like an undead womp rat.” 

“It’s war paint!” Ishtaa and Quinn turned to Pierce, their eyes bouncing back and forth as if they were watching a Takett match. “Just a little sweat and blood, nothin’ wrong with that! He just wants to smell like a man, don’t he, Broon?”

Broonmark gurgled his agreement, nodding vehemently.

Vette turned to Quinn, making her lavender eyes as wide as she could go. “Come on, Captain Stuffypants,” she pleaded. “Isn’t there some regulation about hygiene or uniforms or something?”

Ishtaa turned to survey Quinn, her eyes narrowed in a mixture of curiosity and amusement, testing him. For a moment, he opened his mouth to begin quoting some rule or clause. But then, catching Ishtaa’s gaze, he shut it and cleared his throat to start anew. 

“Actually, Vette,” he said, “Imperial guidelines aren’t terribly specific about non-human personnel. Particularly those that don’t wear clothes.” 

Broonmark blurted in triumph. 

Vette groaned at the ceiling, tugging on her lekku in frustration. “Are you kidding me?!” she said. “You’re siding with him? You, of all people?”

Quinn frowned. “I haven’t taken anyone’s side,” he said. “I merely answered your question.” 

Vette sighed. “Fine,” she said. She turned to Ishtaa and crossed her arms. “Well? What’s the verdict?”

“There will be no verdict,” she said, turning serious. 

Everyone, including Quinn, gaped at her in surprise. After a brief moment of astonishment, Vette, Pierce, and Broonmark all burst out arguing at once, with Quinn looking as if he were beginning to question his neutrality. 

“Silence!” she said loudly. Her crew promptly shut up, leaving the ship in total silence except for the hum of the engines and 2V’s chorus of ‘oh dear, oh dear.’ Clasping her hands behind her back, Ishtaa dropped all pretense of amusement, and her voice took on the brisk tone she took with incompetent planetside Imperials. “I will not tolerate such trivial disputes, and I will not condescend to diffuse them. Furthermore,” she said, shooting the crew a look that made everyone—even Pierce—shrink a little bit, “I will not stand for a divided crew. Now—”

“Broonmark?” Jaesa padded into the room. “I sensed conflict,” she said, “what’s…” She froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked hesitantly. 

Before Vette or Pierce had a chance to interject, Broonmark began burbling rapidly at Jaesa. The girl nodded, accepting his reply. “I see,” she said. “And you don’t want to take a bath because you wish to display the superiority of the clan?” 

Broonmark nodded. 

She sighed heavily. “Broonmark,” she said, running a hand through the fur on top of his head, “that’s not how things are done here.” 

Broonmark made a noise of protest. 

“But you’re not with the Talz anymore!” Jaesa said. “You’re with the Imperials. And the Imperials don’t like it when people walk around with blood all over them. That’s weird, Broonmark, and if you keep doing weird things like that, you’re going to embarrass your master. You don’t want to bring shame on your clan, do you?” He protested again. “Do you?”

He hesitated. Then, after a reluctant pause, he blurted mournfully. 

“There you go,” Jaesa said, turning cheery once again. “Now why don’t you come with me, and I’ll help you get washed up, okay?” 

He nodded. But as Jaesa took his hand to lead him towards the makeshift tub in the cargo bay, he dragged his feet. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. He burbled a question. Jaesa laughed. “No, I’m not going to braid your hair like a Wookie. And I promise I won’t use anything floral. Come on.” And taking the Talz by the hand, she left the room.

The rest of the crew stared after her. 

“What just happened?” Vette asked.

“I think,” Ishtaa said smiling, “we just witnessed the start of a very strange friendship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading! There's much more to come, and your support keeps me writing.


	18. Fury

Quinn squinted at his datapad, bewildered. The report he was reading was gibberish, or at least it seemed that way. He’d been reading the same line for the past twenty minutes, but the words kept getting jumbled every time he reached the second half of the sentence.

Perhaps his eyes needed a rest. Sighing, he looked up from the screen. His gaze immediately shot to the same place they always ‘rested’ when he took a break from reports.

Ishtaa.

She wasn’t looking at him, which was both a mercy and a price. On the one hand, he was immensely grateful that she couldn’t see him right now. Every moment that she wasn’t looking at him was a golden opportunity for him to look at her without fear of being caught. And how she would catch him! If she could see the way he looked at her—she, with her intuition, her senses, her acuity—she would know the strange commotion in his heart.

No, it was these moments that he let his guard down, let himself revel in her presence if only for the few seconds when she could not see. She was planning something at the moment, her legs curled up on her chair, one hand writing with a stylus, the other pressed against her cheek for support. In her angled pose, her dark brown hair fell over her face in a messy curtain that veiled her eyes from view.

That was the price of these stolen looks. For despite the thrill of looking upon her unguarded face, and the call of her candid posture begging for his fingers to brush her hair aside, to wrap his arms around her waist, to let her nestle into his frame instead of the cockpit chair, nothing could compare to the tranquility of her eyes meeting his.

She looked up.

“Something wrong, Captain?”

He started. “No,” he said. He kept the guilt and fear from his voice and shook his head—deliberately making it look as if he’d been staring at nothing in particular, or the stars.

As if the stars could compare.

“No, my lord,” he said, more confidently this time. “Just having trouble concentrating.”

“I would imagine. I heard about the problems with Moff Broysc.”

“Quite.”

It was a lie. Moff Broysc was worrisome…but not nearly so worrisome as the way his focus kept returning to Ishtaa’s lips and how soft they looked.

This could not continue.

He stood up and gave a tiny bow, barely remembering to drop a ‘my lord’ before exiting. Perhaps he could find some peace in slicing…or at least, get aggravated enough by Vette’s prodding that he would forget all about Ishtaa and her lips.

 

* * *

 

“Quinn?”

The captain didn’t respond, his blue eyes staring vacantly at the screen as his fingers continued mechanically tapping out lines of code.

Vette shook his shoulder. “Quinn!”

“Yes, what is it? What do you want, Vette?”

“You’re doing it wrong!” she said. “We’re supposed to be remotely erasing the files, not opening them.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed in a slightly bewildered expression, his eyes focusing on the screen for the first time. “What?”

“Ugh, move!” She elbowed him out of the way. Surprisingly, he offered no resistance, merely blinking several times. He rubbed a hand across his chin wearily as Vette repaired the mistakes he had made. After a few seconds, she hit the last button with an emphatic ‘clack.’ “There,” she said, fixing her headband. She crossed her arms at Quinn. “But seriously,” she said, “what’s wrong with you today? I mean, yeah, you’re not the best slicer in the galaxy, but this…it’s not like you. You’re almost as bad as Pierce today.”

Pierce shouted from his corner of the room, not bothering to look up from the enormous grenade-launcher he was modifying. “I never said I can’t slice, it’s just a bloody waste of time. Be easier to go smash the bloody thing to pieces than slicin’ into it from here.”

Vette ignored Pierce’s interruption, turning a studious eye to Quinn’s face. Now that she considered it, he looked exhausted. His five o’clock shadow was more pronounced than ever, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. “Look,” she sighed, “you’re not going to be much use at this if you can’t concentrate.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, scowling. He picked up his datapad and began sorting through the list of slicing tasks.

“Yeah, but I won’t be. Not with you hovering around looking like death. Have you seen yourself today? You’re starting to look like a rakghoul and it’s freaking me out.” She pried his fingers from the datapad. “Do us all a favor and go get some sleep.”

“On whose orders?”

“Mine.”

Quinn visibly jumped at the sound of Ishtaa’s voice. He lowered his head into a slight, stiff bow. “My lord,” he said.

Vette stared at him. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever seen Quinn like this. She hadn’t thought it possible for anything to really fluster him. Irritate him, certainly, or anger him, or catch him by surprise...but never this mixture of uncertainty, awe, and terror. And yet here he was, his voice coming out slightly strangled, his skin pale, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

Had he done something to tick her off?

No—Ishtaa was smiling benignly at him, not glaring. “Go get some rest, Captain. I’ll get 2V to cover your duties for a couple of hours.”

“Yes, my lord.” He hurried from the room.

Vette stared at the doorway. Now that he’d gone, she felt a slight pang of guilt and concern. In spite of the amount of time she spent bothering him (or really because of how much she bothered him, if she were to be completely honest with herself), she didn’t actually hate the man. She’d grown to like him, in a strange big-brother-and-deliberately-obnoxious-kid-sister kind of way. As amusing as it was to needle him, she did hope he wasn’t really troubled by something.

“What’s with him?”

Ishtaa’s smile faded. “That’s not your concern, Vette,” she said sternly. She must have felt Vette’s reaction, because her face softened. “Captain Quinn will be fine. He’s just dealing with some personal problems at the moment. He’ll sort it out. Just try not to get in his hair for a day or two.” She leaned out of the doorway. “2V!”

“What can I do for you, master?”

“Take over Quinn’s slicing tasks. I’ll be in the cargo bay with Jaesa if there’s any trouble.”

 

* * *

 

Quinn found no sleep in his bunk. Every time he closed his eyes, afterimages burned against his eyelids.

Images of her.

Realizing that rest was impossible, he sat up, resting his head in his hands.

When had this happened? he thought to himself. When had Ishtaa—his master and superior officer, he noted pointedly—come to dominate his thoughts so thoroughly that he could not escape, no matter where he turned?

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself to an understanding: this was intolerable.

It could not continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your support is what keeps me writing. If you enjoyed this story, or want to read more, please drop a quick comment or a kudos.


	19. Fury

There was a strange ache in Ishtaa’s chest as she followed Quinn to the cockpit. She had a bad feeling about this. In her head, she knew that he probably just wanted to ask her permission to sort out the latest Broysc fiasco. But her intuition was another matter entirely.

He didn’t look at her for a moment. She watched his fingers twining and untwining behind his back. His entire frame radiated tension. 

Finally, he breathed out sharply and turned to face her. He cleared his throat thickly.

“My lord,” he began tersely, “thank you for attention. I must officially ask to be reassigned.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. 

“Not going to happen,” she said, once she had regained the ability to speak. Words failing her, she turned on her heel to leave the room. “Dismissed.”

He lurched forward to stop her with his arm. She blinked at him, dumbfounded. She didn’t protest his forwardness—she was still processing the fact that Malavai Quinn had disobeyed a direct order, and trying to ignore the fact that her heart had decided to start pounding against her ribcage. 

“My lord, I must speak freely then,” he said, gripping her upper arm to pull her back into the cockpit. She stared at his fingers. They dug into her bare skin, a stark contrast to the way he drew her away from the door, barely exerting any force but somehow managing to keep her from leaving. He must not have realized how solid his grip was, because it was only when he saw her staring that he let go, his cheeks flushing. “I…I am compromised.” His voice broke in the middle of the word, and it was as though a dam had broken. For the briefest instant, Quinn the soldier vanished: it was a man that stood before her now, pained and vulnerable. His eyes darted about the room. “I am forced to admit that thoughts of you have begun to…distract me.” He met her eyes. It started something in him; all at once he was a soldier again. “I cannot in good conscience continue to serve.” 

She studied him, completely taken aback. Never had it crossed her mind that Quinn could ever possibly be attracted to her. She had flirted with him on Balmorra…but that was idle teasing, jesting directed at someone who she could never in a million years imagine ever viewing her as more than a superior officer. If she had known that he might look at her the same way she looked at him, the way he was looking at her now…

She’d have lost her nerve, just like she lost her nerve now. 

“If you insist on reassignment,” she said quietly, “it’ll be a shame, but I’ll grant it.” She looked up at him, suddenly realizing how much larger he was than her—his shoulders broad and strong, located at just the right height for her to bury her face in his neck. “Are you absolutely certain you can’t stay?” She hadn’t meant it to come out so pleading, but she couldn’t stop the note of desperation in her voice. 

“I…” He fumbled for the words. He moistened his lips, his eyes flickering about restlessly. “If we were involved, we might not be able to act if the other’s life would be forfeit.” 

She answered without hesitation. “I would have no trouble deciding if that situation should arise.”

It was the truth. She already knew what she would do. She would find another way. 

She saw something change in Quinn’s demeanor. He stepped towards her, his fingertips smoothing the loose strands of her hair away from her face. “I can resist you no longer.”

He kissed her. Every stray thought that cluttered her head instantly dissipated, all of her energy suddenly focused on the pressure of his lips against hers, the only thing that mattered at present. He tasted warm; that was the only way she could describe it. Warm and heady—or perhaps that was merely the smell of his aftershave that filled her lungs with every breath. She idly noticed that his hands had shifted to her back. His strong arms twined around her waist to envelope her in the kiss. She responded to the pressure by throwing her arms over his shoulders. Her fingers had just begun to twist into his hair when he broke away, a dazed contentment written all over his face.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

“I do.” She gazed up into the deep blue pools of his irises, resting her head against his reassuringly. “Don’t fight it. It will make you stronger.”

He raised his chin to kiss her forehead. “I’m growing open to the idea, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Any feedback--comment and/or kudos, positive or constructively negative--is enormously appreciated! Your sup!port keeps me writing


	20. Interlude

Although their mutual feelings were finally out in the open, their bliss was soon interrupted by a call from Major Ovech, an old colleague and friend of Quinn’s. Ovech, sent into Republic territory on a suicide mission by Moff Broysc, was trapped in his ship without any hope of reinforcements.

Through daring, quick-thinking, and a fantastic display of his skill as a pilot, Quinn single-handedly rescued Ovech and his crew from the Republic’s siege. After contacting Ishtaa to report his success, Quinn relented to Ovech’s repeated requests and agreed to stay for the celebrations. 

Meanwhile, Ishtaa and Jaesa traveled down to the toxic world of Quesh, on a mission from Darth Baras to protect an Imperial base from Republic saboteurs…


	21. Quesh

“What a stroke of luck,” Jaesa said. Ishtaa eyed her curiously. “The detonator being broken, I mean,” she said. “I sensed their leader’s confidence. He wasn’t bluffing.” 

“Perhaps not.” Ishtaa glanced about the cave again, even though she had just scanned the area moments ago. “What I want to know is why Baras hasn’t sent any backup.”

Jaesa frowned, confused. “Do we need backup?”

“No, but that hasn’t stopped him in the past. Seems like every time I make some great stride in the Empire’s military campaigns, Imperial troops show up just in time to clean up the mess.” Her fingers traced the hilt of her lightsaber uneasily. Grimacing, she gestured to her apprentice. “Come on. Let’s get off this filthy planet.”

“Yes, Master.”

The two women moved through the cave warily, neither of them speaking to the other as they watched and listened for any sign of incoming Imperial troops. They passed several minutes in silence before Ishtaa murmured under her breath. 

“Where are they?” she wondered aloud. 

“Perhaps Baras has caught on to the fact that you don’t need reinforcements.”

“No, he’s always known that,” Ishtaa said impatiently, her forehead creased in concentration. “He’s Baras. He knows everything. He knows what I’m capable of and what I can do. That’s not why he sends reinforcements. It’s never been about keeping me safe, it’s been about keeping an eye on me.” She paled. “But if Baras hasn’t sent anyone, that can only mean…”

“He doesn’t need to keep an eye on you—”

“—because he already has one.” 

Jaesa and Ishtaa stared at each other, sensing their mutual bewilderment and foreboding.

Ishtaa’s holo beeped, startling her apprentice. She withdrew it from a fold in her robe and answered it. A chill ran down her spine as an uncomfortably familiar voice began to speak.

“Well, well, well. Well done. Mission accomplished, eh?”

Ishtaa narrowed her eyes. Until she knew what he and Baras were playing at, best to feign obliviousness. “The threat is over,” she said.

Draahg smirked, obviously relishing the moment. “There was never a threat, friend,” he said. “Captain Trey-yen was sent here by one of Baras’ Republic moles.”

Ishtaa’s stomach plummeted. “Run,” she muttered to Jaesa out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes never leaving the holo. Her apprentice, transfixed by the image herself, didn’t seem to hear her master. But before Ishtaa could discreetly try again, Draahg had continued speaking.

“The explosives he set up were not wired to the Captain’s detonator,” he explained. “I have the real detonator, an elaborate trap for you.” 

Ishtaa glowered at him. “So,” she said bitterly, “Baras is stabbing me in the back.” 

“Our master prides himself on being one step ahead of everyone. That includes you. He knew someday you would rise against him. You were his fiercest,” Draahg spat, a note of jealousy clear in his tone. “I consider it a privilege that he’s allowed me to pull the trigger.” 

Ishtaa nudged Jaesa. “Run,” she mumbled, careful not to move her lips except into what could pass for teeth bared in fury. 

“Not without you,” Jaesa replied.

Ishtaa shot her a warning look, but then had to return her attention to the holo. “This will be your fate one day, Draahg,” she said.

He smiled condescendingly. “You let me worry about that.” He arranged his face into a mock-angelic expression. “Baras sends his regards.” His eyes hardened. “Goodbye.”

He pushed the button.

Ishtaa spun to face Jaesa. “I said run!” she shouted furiously, her voice becoming lost in a growing rumble.

“I’m not leaving without you!”

Ishtaa shot a panicked look at the ceiling as the boulders overhead gave a threatening groan. She was running out of time. Turning to Jaesa, she steeled herself.

“Tell Baras to go to hell.” She threw her hands out, closing her eyes as she called on the Force to push with all of her might. She heard Jaesa shriek as she was thrown towards the mouth of the cavern. 

“Master, DON’T!”

Ishtaa took a shuddering breath, resigned to her fate. For the first time in her life, she wished the Jedi were right. She didn’t care that they had killed her parents, she didn’t care that they were hypocrites. She only hoped that, in spite of their faults, what they said was true:

There is no death. Only the Force.

Everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Thanks for reading! Whether you liked the story, loved it, or hated it so much that you're literally vomiting on your keyboard, leave a review and let me know! (Although you might want to deal with the puke first. Yuck.) I love to hear from readers, even if it's to tell me that my writing sucks, because that tells me what to change and how to get better. And if you liked the story, let me know! It'll motivate me to post chapters faster if I know people want to read more.


	22. Alderaan

“You always did know how to find your privacy, even at a party like this.”

Quinn wasn’t startled. He had seen the man enter through the curtain in his peripheral vision. He didn’t even move from the wall he was resting against. “And you were always very good at finding me,” he said.

Ovech chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘finding.’ More like unintentionally stumbling across an already-occupied hiding place whenever I tried to sneak off for a glass of brandy.” 

Quinn raised an eyebrow at him. “It would seem that you’ve escalated, then,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall, “because I seem to recall that you were always carrying a glass of brandy, not two.”

“It’s wine, actually.”

“Well, that changes everything.”

“And they’re not both for me.” He held out one of the glasses. “Now, drink, before I change my mind.”

Quinn took the drink with a laugh, and the two men tapped glasses. Ovech immediately began to drink, downing half of his glass in one swig. Quinn sipped more gingerly, preparing himself for a heavy, bitter taste and subsequent dulling of the senses that he’d never particularly cared for. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the wine was mild, and tinged with a light spice he wasn’t familiar with.

Ovech let out a hearty chuckle at the look on Quinn’s face. “Better than the swill they serve lieutenants, eh?”

“Yes.” Quinn took another sip. “Much better, actually,” he said, studying the drink’s color as if he were expecting to see a difference.

“I’d expect so,” Ovech said. “Asta Kilran only serves the best.”

Quinn stopped, glass halfway to his lips. “Kilran? As in—”

“The Moff isn’t here at the moment. But he sends his congratulations. We’re in one of the Kilrans’ summer homes on Alderaan,” he said. “We’d be on Broysc’s doorstep on Dromund Kaas, so we couldn’t exactly celebrate there. Luckily, Lady Kilran was planning one of her galas and graciously offered to host us when she heard the news.” He frowned at the captain, who had just grunted. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing your medics couldn’t fix.” Quinn stretched his arms and upper shoulders. “Just residual spasms at this point.”

Ovech’s frown deepened. “I hadn’t realized you were injured.”

 

“Two broken ribs, a second-degree burn, and minor internal bleeding.”

His eyes widened. He surveyed Quinn, searching for outward signs of discomfort; he found none. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as minor internal bleeding.”

“It was a rough landing.”

“Indeed.” He surveyed the captain over the top of his glass. “Well, your ‘rough landing’ certainly made an impression. I’ve been approached by two commanders, a major, and four colonels, all wanting to know what it would take to get you in their command.”

Quinn stared at him. “Me?”

“You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself,” said Ovech seriously. “You’ve done more for this Empire on more planets than most high-ranking officials do in their entire career. Nar Shaddaa, Taris, the civil war here on Alderaan…”

“I wasn’t acting alone,” Quinn pointed out. “Lord Ishtaa was responsible for most of the victories you mentioned. The credit is entirely hers.”

Ovech sighed. “You’re missing the point,” he said impatiently. “It’s not just what you’ve done. It’s you! It’s the entire way you operate.” He paused. “Do you know what happened after the Battle of Druckenwell?”

Quinn froze instinctively, his posture and expression hardening. “Of course I do,” he said darkly.

“Really?” The major scowled. “You know everything? You know what went on behind closed doors, behind superiors’ backs?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

“You had a lot of supporters after you stood up to Moff Broysc,” Ovech said. “And not just underlings. Officers, dozens of them, tired of watching their best men thrown away on suicide missions and ego trips, they rallied behind you.”

Quinn laughed bitterly. “If I had so many supporters,” he sneered, “then why did I spend ten years of my life as an outcast, relegated to a backwater planet in the cesspool of the galaxy.” He clenched his fist. “I lost ten years,” he spat. “Ten long years of my life, years I could have spent protecting the Empire or saving lives. Cast off from every opportunity, every colleague, every battle, knowing that no matter what I could do or what I had done, nothing I ever achieved would be worth a damn.” He scoffed. “I saved countless lives at Druckenwell,” he said. “Why weren’t any of them there to save me?”

“Because they were afraid,” Ovech snapped. “Everyone was afraid of Moff Broysc’s power, including me. Knowing what he had the authority to do, what he was capable of, nobody dared to stand up to him. Nobody,” he said emphatically, “except you.” Quinn turned to look at his old colleague. He was surprised to find that there was no sarcasm, no joke written in his face; only deep admiration, and a look that bordered on reverence. “You’re a hero, Quinn,” he said solemnly. “I know it, your master knows it, everyone knows it. And now that you’ve gone and single-handedly rescued a major from Republic siege and a squadron of Imperial commandos, they can do something about it in the open. You’ve gone from a regrettable casualty of Broysc’s ego to a name that people can stand behind.” 

Quinn sighed heavily and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

Ovech looked mildly affronted. “I thought you’d be a little more pleased to have all these opportunities for promotion.”

“Once, perhaps.” His eyes glazed over as he set his empty glass down on a buffet, thinking, staring at nothing in particular. If he had been given this opportunity a year ago, he would have taken it. He smiled faintly. How much had changed since then. He realized that the major was waiting for him to continue. He shook his head to clear the idle thoughts from his mind. “But that day is past. Things are different now.”

“What, since you began working for the Sith?” He said “Sith” like it was a dirty word. 

Quinn leapt to her defense. “She saved me from that wretched planet,” he said fiercely. “I was wasting away. Before she came to Balmorra, I was nothing.”

Ovech stared at him blankly. “She?” 

He swallowed. He could have corrected himself, tried to play off his error as a slip of the tongue, but he didn’t. He crossed the room to the window, resting against the sill. The major followed him.

“Have you lost your mind?” he whispered. “Darth Baras is the one who saved your career. Baras is the one you owe, not this,” he sputtered, struggling for words, “this apprentice.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “His ‘apprentice’ is a force to be reckoned with.”

Ovech let out a bark of humorless laughter. “And Baras isn’t?”

“Not like her.” He gazed out the window. “Baras might be a master at pulling strings, but she’s…” His voice caught. A memory had risen to the surface of his mind. 

“I excite you, do I?”

“Well…What I meant to say was…When I imagine all the ways that you will shape the galaxy, I get very excited. Yes.”  
He hadn’t meant it the way she had interpreted it at the time…but in hindsight, the way she danced across the battlefield, lightsabers blazing, the golden light reflected in her green eyes, the exertion of the fight making her skin glow pink…it made him ache with longing. Coupled with her ingenuity, her wit, her integrity, her intensity, it almost threatened to overwhelm him.

“You love her.”

Quinn swallowed the lump in his throat. “I…Yes.” He turned to see the major’s reaction; his eyes were wide with fear. Finally, he cleared his throat, drawing himself up to his full height.

“I can’t order you to stop loving her,” Ovech said. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “However, I would advise you to recall where your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalties are not in conflict.”

“Not yet,” he said. “But loyalties change.” Out of the blue, his face broke into a smile. “Oh, come now,” he said, putting an arm around Quinn’s shoulder in a paternal gesture, “I didn’t tell you all this to ruin your evening. I just don’t want you to throw away your future on a whim.” 

Quinn’s first instinct was to tell Ovech in no uncertain terms that Ishtaa was not a whim. But then, he realized, the man was well on his way to being tipsy, and this probably wasn’t the most prudent time to have a heart-to-heart. Instead, he simply nodded. “I understand.”

Ovech chortled. “Atta boy.” Grabbing Quinn’s empty glass from the buffet, he headed towards the curtain separating the antechamber from the main hall. He held the curtain to the side. “You coming back to the party?”

Quinn lagged behind, still struggling with what the major had told him. He nodded. “I’ll be in shortly,” he said. “I just need to think for a few moments.”

Ovech nodded gravely. “I understand. When you get tired of pondering Sith politics, let me know if you want an introduction to any of those interested parties I mentioned. I’d be happy to set you up.”

“Thank you.” Quinn closed his eyes in relief when the major left. 

He had no intention of being ‘set up’ with any ‘interested parties.’ Still…Ovech had given him much to think about. He had just pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane when his holo began to beep.

Scowling, he pulled the infernal thing out of his pocket. It was Vette’s frequency; no doubt she had called to nag him or tell him about some inane prank she had recently played. 

Still, he couldn’t ignore a call from the ship.

He sighed wearily before pushing the button.  
“What is it, Vette?” he asked, glancing up at the ceiling—half hoping something would fall down and spare him the irritation of this conversation.

He stopped his mental griping when he heard the Twi’lek crying. He looked down at the holo to see her eye makeup smeared all down her cheeks.

“Quinn,” she said, sobbing, “you have to come back. You have to come back here right now.”

“Why? What is it? Is Ishtaa hurt?”

Vette shook her head. For a few seconds, tears overwhelmed her, and she was unable to speak. Her voice was thick when she continued. “It’s worse than that,” she said. “She…She’s missing. She and Jaesa are gone. They’re both gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been reading and commenting, thank you so much! You have no idea how much glee and motivation to write it fills me with to know that people are actually reading (and enjoying) my story! If you read this chapter and have any thoughts, please don't hesitate to comment below, positive or negative, all feedback is accepted. Thanks again for your support.


	23. Quesh

"Ishtaa."

She heard her name spoken in a sweet, soft voice, but it was unclear—as if the sound were coming from some place very far away.

"Ishtaa."

She knew that voice. She couldn't identify the speaker, but it stirred something in her memory, faint images of someone she loved, and someone who loved her in return. She tried to open her eyes, make some movement towards the sound, but she couldn't muster the strength. She felt so heavy…

"Ishtaa. Wake up. You have to get up."

She frowned.

"ISHTAA."

With a gasp, she opened her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was—some strange place with a cold, hard floor, and dark; the woman who had been speaking to her was nowhere to be found. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, it all came flooding back to her.

Draahg. Baras.

She unconsciously pounded a fist against the ground, her teeth clenched in fury. A bolt of pain shot through her temples. She sank back to the floor with a whimper. Even that small noise, that tiny protest, took an enormous amount of effort, and she started to cough, setting off a wave of spasms in her abdomen, her stomach muscles coiling in protest. The coughing turned quickly into retching; she heaved, clutching her stomach, but nothing came out except spit, thick from dust and dehydration.

When the heaves finally subsided, she fell limply to the ground and let the coolness of the floor seep into her skin. She was going to die here: she realized that now. If she didn't bleed out from the inside, she was eventually going to run out of air.

She forced herself to swallow some of the foul grit that coated her throat. So this was how it would end. In all her battle strategies and contingency plans, she hadn't planned for this. When she steeled herself for the end, she had envisioned something worthy of great stories—a final duel upon the heights of some grand structure, a blaze of fire and ash as a Jedi temple imploded—not this. Not curled in a heap of inhuman misery, alone on the floor of a cave, rasping for oxygen that wasn't there, covered in filth and bruised beyond recognition.

This was the end.

She felt her eyes burn with tears. She had failed. Every drop of sweat and blood she had spilt was in vain. All her battles, meaningless. Her parents had lived and died for love, but what had she died for? Nothing. It had all been for nothing. They were dead, and now she would die too, with nothing to show for it. No vengeance. No retribution. The galaxy would go on spinning as if neither she nor her parents had ever existed, as it had always been: vile, corrupted by the Jedi and Baras, and all the hypocrites that poisoned the air with greed and deceit.

She was pathetic. Worthless.

Perhaps it was best that she die alone, she thought. At least this way, no one else had to know how it ended. Vette would have the comfort of thinking her death quick and painless. Jaesa would think that her last impulse was one of selflessness, to save her apprentice. Pierce and Broonmark would hear how she cursed Baras with her dying breaths. And Quinn would never see her like this: hideously bruised and filthy, sniveling like a child, weak and broken.

Through her tears, she managed a weak smile. Quinn. That was her comfort. He wasn't like the rest of the galaxy, weak or wicked. He was good, and honorable, and he was strong enough to do something about it. He would protect the others. He would carry on, continuing the fight that she no longer could.

She closed her eyes, allowing memories of him to fill her senses and act as a balm to soothe away some of the pain and hate. If she was going to die, at least her last moments could be happy ones.

I'm holding you, Quinn.

Something surged in her chest and she let out an audible sob.

I love you, Quinn.

She shuddered as the outburst broke, her hysteria snapping into a strange sort of peace. She took one last deep breath and sighed.

She surrendered.

Her holo beeped.


	24. Fury

He closed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe when he had gotten up the ramp to the ship, letting out a heavy sigh. It had been a very long day. He'd been all across Quesh, trying every officer he came across to see if they could give him some clue as to Ishtaa and Jaesa's whereabouts. The last one had been particularly unhelpful. Quinn had nearly assaulted him in an attempt to get information out of him.

_"Listen to me," he snarled, "I order you as a captain and as the servant of a very powerful Sith—"_

_"And I am under orders from a member of the Dark Council," the lieutenant replied smugly, curling his lip. He narrowed his eyes at Quinn's hands, clenched around his collar, pinning him against the wall. "Now I suggest you take your hands off me before I have you detained by the authority of Darth Baras."_

He staggered into the main room of the ship. Everywhere he had gone, the answer was the same: the details of Lord Ishtaa's mission were top secret, not to be shared with anyone regardless of rank, by order of Darth Baras. He had spent hours fishing for leads, but still no Ishtaa.

The only scrap of hope had come from a soldier at the last center he had visited, a young, bright-eyed private—practically a boy—who had approached him somewhat tentatively after the lieutenant had left.

_"You said your name was Captain Quinn? As in the Captain Quinn?"_

_He stopped, startled. "That depends," he said. "There might be another one."_

_"Captain Malavai Quinn," the boy said eagerly. "You fought in the Battle of Druckenwell. They said…" He stammered. "They said in the Academy that you went against orders, saved the day."_

_Quinn flinched. "Ah. It would seem that there isn't a different one, then."_

_The private looked like a child seeing a full-sized starship for the first time. "Wow. That's…It's an honor to meet you," he said, grinning._

_Quinn weakly smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad to have served the Empire."_

_His lack of enthusiasm must have showed, because the lieutenant's smile faded. "You're really worried about this Sith, aren't you?" The captain didn't answer, but the lieutenant had already figured it out. The boy glanced over his shoulder nervously. He lowered his voice. "Look, don't tell anyone I said this, but I'll contact you if this Sith or her apprentice turn up. I can't tell you anything about her mission or where she went, I wasn't allowed to know myself, but I promise that if anyone finds her, you'll be the first to know."_

Quinn sank into one of the seats beside the dinner table. His stubble scratched his palms as he buried his face in his hands. He hadn't shaved. He also hadn't filed any reports, checked the ship's functions, or done inventory, but it all seemed like such trivial nonsense at the moment.

He heard footsteps coming up the ramp. He looked up eagerly, hope flaring in his chest.

It was Vette…and she looked just as forlorn as he had moments ago.

His face sank. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "Pierce and Broonmark are still scouring the place manually, but there wasn't anything in the computers," she said. "I sliced into the Imperial databases, but there were parts of it even I couldn't access."

Quinn nodded. "We will simply have to try again tomorrow."

Vette sighed.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have an alternative plan of action?"

"No...But I think…" Vette bit her lip. "I think it might be time for us to consider that she might not be coming back."

"Not come—no." He stood up. "No, don't be ridiculous. Why wouldn't she come back?"

"Because she's dead, Quinn," Vette burst out. "Face the facts. She's been gone for three days, she hasn't contacted us, nobody will tell us where she went because it's classified—"

He searched her face, waiting for the punch line, the teasing 'Captain Stuffypants' and reprimands not to take everything so seriously. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she said shakily, "that everyone, even Sith, can die. If someone wanted her dead, we have to consider that as a possibility."

"There's no evidence to suggest that she's dead."

"And there's no evidence to suggest that she isn't!"

"Why are you so determined to believe that she's gone? Do you want her to be dead?"

Vette let out a cry of annoyance. "Don't you get it?!" she snapped, waving her arms in frustration. "What I want has nothing to do with it. What I want has never had anything to do with it." She took a deep breath, her voice shaking as her eyes brimmed with tears. "Look," she said, "I loved Ishtaa. She was my family. But I can't let the fact that I love her get in the way of the truth. And the truth is that she might be dead." She raised her chin. "It's hard enough to lose someone you love. I'm not going to make it worse by getting my hopes up first."

And then, much to Quinn's embarrassment, she began to cry openly. He winced. He might not have said anything directly, but he still felt as if he was somehow vaguely responsible for making her cry.

He cleared his throat. "Vette," he said haltingly, "I know that you've lost people before, and I understand that it's difficult…" How could I start again now that I've known her? How could anything ever compare to being in her service? Who could ever possibly compare to her? He closed his eyes, suppressing the doubts that plagued his own could face his own demons later. Right now, his duty was to provide support. He put a hand on Vette's shoulder. "But Lord Ishtaa is a powerful Sith and an incredibly strong woman," he said. "I've seen her look death in the eye and come out unscathed. If anyone could do that more than once, it would be her." He found, as he was saying it, that he almost started to believe it himself.

Almost.

His train of thought was cut off when Vette abruptly threw her arms around him.

His immediate instinct was to freeze, arms awkwardly held out from his sides, completely immobile in the grip of the frantic Twi'lek. Slowly, however, he relaxed, and put his arms around her. He patted the top of her head stiffly.

"Shh," he crooned. He tried to keep his voice neutral, even though his eyes were wide with confusion and verging on panic. Was this how one was supposed to deal with a crying girl? It dawned on him that he was being somewhat condescending, that the head-patting and tone of voice were probably more appropriate for a baby than a full-grown—mostly grown? Now that he thought about it, he had no idea how old Vette was, or if her species even measured age the same way humans did.

Mercifully, he didn't have to worry about the correct protocol for dealing with a crying girl for very long, because another set of footsteps came running up the ramp.

Quinn and Vette broke apart as Pierce barreled into the room, his feet thundering against the floor.

"News, lieutenant?"

Pierce nodded. "It's Jaesa, Cap'n," he said, slightly out of breath. "We've found her."


	25. The Truth

**Fury**

“They said she’s stabilized.”

“Good.” Quinn rolled his sleeves up and began to clean his hands. “Pierce, move her from the stretcher to the bed. _Gently_ ,” he added hurriedly. “We don’t want to disturb her too much until we know what kind of internal damage she might have suffered.”

Pierce gave a nod. He scooped Jaesa into his arms and carried her across the room as if she weighed no more than an infant.

Vette squinted over Quinn’s shoulder. She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“Stim," he said briskly, opening the package in one fluid movement that had become second nature over the past year. “Normally, she would be allowed to rest, but we need to know where Ishtaa is, and time is a luxury we cannot afford.” He glanced at Jaesa. “I’ll need a patch of bare skin. Go adjust her robes so I can give her the injection.”

“I’m on it!”

Quinn braced himself against the countertop. _She’s alive. She’s alive. If she survived, then Ishtaa could have done the same._

Steeling himself, he turned to the unconscious girl lying on the infirmary bed and pushed the stim into her skin.

**Quesh**

She answered the holo.

“Ah, apprentice. The fools managed to arrange the explosives as instructed. Excellent. I was beginning to fear that they’d bungled the job and killed you in the initial blast.”

She bared her teeth at the flickering image of her former master. “You’re a dead man walking, Baras,” she spat.

“An admirable sentiment,” he said patronizingly, “but an empty one. You survived the initial blast by my design, but rest assured that you will run out of air and you will die. The only reason you have lived this long is that I thought you deserved to know the truth before you die.”

Ishtaa choked out a bitter laugh. “So honored to have earned your esteem.”

Baras clucked his tongue. “You always were insubordinate,” he said. “A trait you inherited from your father, I suppose.”

Ishtaa winced. She sank lower to the ground with a soft grunt; the effort of raising herself up to speak had begun to take a toll on her battered ribcage. “What would you know about it?” she said through gritted teeth. “My father died trying to protect my mother and I. He was a hero.”

“Your father was what I made him to be.” Baras clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. “They told you at the Academy that your father was a Jedi.”

“Because he _was_ a Jedi,” she snapped. “My mother was too. The Jedi Council killed them for their defiance.”

“You foolish girl,” said Baras. “ _I_ killed your father.”

She gaped at him, pressing a hand to her stomach as she struggled to breathe. “What?”

“Everything they told you at the Academy about your parents—the Jedi Council, their tragic love—it was all a lie. Your mother was a slave, a whore to the Sith, captured and used for the acolytes’ amusement.”

“How dare you?” she snarled. “My mother was a Jedi and a hero, as was my father by her side.”

Your father was no more a Jedi than you are. He was my apprentice.”

Ishtaa stared. Her whole body numbed. “No, this is…You’re lying,” she shouted. “You’re lying!” Propelled by anger, she tried to stand but couldn’t. She dissolved into coughs before doubling over, sinking back to her knees on the filthy ground. “It’s not true,” she said hoarsely. “You’re trying to trick me. Get inside my head. I won’t let you! It’s not true.” Her arms nearly gave way. She stumbled forward, propped up only by her elbows. “It’s not true…”

“Do you really think me so foolish as to plan an elaborate lie when I believed Jaesa would be with you?”

Ishtaa clenched her eyes shut. “I’m going to kill you, Baras. I swear, if I have to destroy death itself, one day, I will watch you fall.”

“Goodbye, apprentice.”

Baras vanished, and Ishtaa was again left alone.

Her façade broke.

Where she had been numb moments ago, she now burned. Every bone, every muscle fiber in her body shook with rage. Her eyes snapped open as she arched her back and let out an animalistic scream of pain and hate.

As she screamed, the cavern began to shake violently. The floor rumbled. Cracks began to form in the walls, spider webs and lightning bolts of dark fire. Dust fell from the ceiling in rivers, tumbling over rocks and crevasses as it spilled downwards. The thunderous sound in Ishtaa’s ears reached a crescendo.

Then, in an explosion of stone, her rage burst. Weak, shaking with exhaustion and tears, she fell limply into the newly formed crater and slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


	26. Chapter 26

**Quesh**

_“Interest justified. Shall I revive?”_

_“Offer no help. We must be sure. She has proven her strength by obliterating the cave, but her true worth will be established by surviving the trek to safety. We will wait at the command center exactly one day for our proof.”_

**Fury**

Everything was dark and noises pounded against Jaesa’s skull. Through the heavy pulse, she had a notion that there was something she was forgetting: something very important. She groaned dully.

“Quinn.” Vette’s voice. She sensed her impatience, driving an elbow into the Captain’s ribs.

There was a flicker of recognition…and trepidation, tinged with hope and sheer terror in equal parts. The corresponding jolt of adrenaline went straight to her heart. There was something terrible that she had to tell them. They had to know. They had to _do_ something.

“Lieutenant, get Broonmark and 2V out of here. She’ll likely be disoriented when she wakes, no need to compound her distress.”

A flash of irritation, but duller than usual. “Yes, Cap’n.” The crews’ signatures gradually faded—the rumble of boulders in an avalanche, the spurt of blood, the mechanical rhythm of parts clinking in sequence—and she felt them go about their business in another part of the ship until she tuned them out, leaving only the flutter of wings and the contained potential of an icy sphere scarcely holding in a molten volcanic core. There was one missing. The star, burning, glowing, ever so slightly churning out bursts of fire and radiation that flared into the hearts of others, unseen.

Ishtaa.

“Baras,” she gasped. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

Vette rushed over, placing a hand on Jaesa’s back. “It’s alright,” she said, putting her other hand atop Jaesa’s. “It’s me and Captain Quinn. You’re okay.”

“No, no,” she said, her voice rising. She yanked her hand from Vette’s, running it through her hair in agitation. “Master!”

The ice sphere cracked. Traces of fire seeped out through the edges. “What about your master?” Quinn asked; his voice was thick with urgency. “Where is Lord Ishtaa?”

The memories flooded back. Draahg’s filthy aura. The only time she had ever seen fear in Ishtaa’s eyes. “We—we went into a cave,” she said breathlessly. “We were sent to stop Republic saboteurs…b-beneath an Imperial base. ”

Vette and Quinn exchanged a look.

“I’ll check the database for Imperial bases near and over known caves,” said Vette immediately.

“But there were bombs. Baras’ bombs. He betrayed us,” Jaesa continued frantically. “The explosives…they were his. They said we were there to help but it was all a trick. And Ishtaa…”

Quinn had blanched. “Baras betrayed you?” She nodded in reply, words failing her as her throat choked up and she forced herself to regain composure, taking in breaths that scorched her lungs until she started to calm down.

In all her panic, Jaesa had failed to notice the thin sheen of sweat over her skin. She shivered delicately, her teeth beginning to chatter slightly.

Meanwhile, all of the severity had gone out of Quinn’s posture and his brow had furrowed. He was studying Jaesa through his eyelashes. She felt his conflict, the medical officer trying not to overwhelm her and risk traumatizing her warring with the frenzy of a concerned lover. Slowly, her shivering ceased, shock and horror replaced by the fascination of a new discovery.

“You…you truly care for her,” she said.

Quinn started to deny it. He obviously remembered her power, however, because he very quickly stopped speaking with the expression of a child who had just been caught in a blatant lie. The fire that had been seeping out of the cracks fell back and turned into a glow, warming the entire sphere of his aura without any outbursts of flame.

She stared at him in wonder. “I had sensed your mutual desire, but what you are feeling now runs deeper,” she marveled. “It’s beautiful.”

Quinn cleared his throat. With obvious difficulty, he finally looked up from his boots to look Jaesa in the eye. She saw that his eyes were shining. “Jaesa, I must know: is she alive?”

She hesitated. “Our bond is such that I would expect to have sensed her passing,” she said haltingly, “but after she pushed me out of the cave, after it began to collapse…She might not have made it.”

He wetted his lips. A nervous tic she hadn’t noticed before. “I’m well aware of that possibility. But I must know for certain.”

Jaesa nodded, her owl-like brown eyes fixed on his face. He meant what he had said. “Very well then.” She closed her eyes and reached out through the Force. I sense…” She began slowly, sifting through the others in between her and Ishtaa. “Your feelings for her are very strong, as are Vette’s.” She blew her bangs out of her face exasperatedly. “So many people in the way…so much interference…it’s making it somewhat difficult to find her.” She pursed her lips, focusing with all her might. Then, a familiar gleam. “Wait,” she said, smiling; Quinn snapped to attention. “I feel something. I think—” Her smile faded. Something was wrong. It felt like Ishtaa’s presence, but there was something amiss—as if the halo of starlight that normally surrounded her had been enflamed, distorted and warped in the heat. She delved a little deeper, reaching out to brush against the edges of her master’s awareness.

The change was immediate. She felt her body go stiff, her back arching up and away from the bed. Her head hummed with a thousand beads of energy ricocheting around, and her hands and knees began to twitch uncontrollably. Somehow, in all the madness, she wrested back control of her mouth, although she could feel her own body fighting back as she forced out the words:

“Help…dark side…such…darkness…”

Her jaw clenched. The control was gone. As if a punishment for her resistance to the fire that was consuming her body, the intensity of her torment increased, consuming her and corroding her veins at an ever-increasing speed. The fibers that held together her tranquility were snapping. A strange new sensation began to sear through her. She felt invincible; every breath was fire with which she could scorch the universe beneath her feet. She wanted to laugh and scream in ecstatic triumph at the same time. It tasted like the blood spilt on a battlefield of eons.

Her chains were broken.

* * *

 

A loud, metallic sound filled the room, and Quinn reluctantly tore his eyes from Jaesa’s convulsing form. Everything in the room had begun to shudder. Lightning danced across the walls in arcs. He jumped back in alarm as a metal shelf on the wall beside him crumpled like paper, spilling its contents to the floor; the glass syringes exploded before they hit the ground. Quinn threw up his hands to protect his face from an onslaught of tiny glass shards that covered his hands in a web of scratches. He lowered his arms seconds later, just in time to see another shelf warp and collapse. He snatched a falling tranquilizer before it could fall.

“Lieutenant! Vette! 2V!” he shouted. “Get in here and help!”

Vette ran to the doorway, with Pierce hovering just behind. She looked at Quinn in alarm. “What did you do?!” she demanded.

“Not now, Vette,” he said. “Just be quiet and hold her head still while the lieutenant restrains her arms and legs.”

They complied. Quinn seized his opportunity and plunged the tranquilizer into Jaesa’s arm before she could break free and wreak more havoc. For a moment, she turned to stare at Quinn, murder in her eyes, and then she passed out, collapsing against the bed and becoming still.

Vette stared. “What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea." 


	27. Interlude

After unconsciously smashing open the entrance to the cave in her rage, Ishtaa soon regained enough air to breathe. Drawing on the last of her strength, she dragged herself to freedom and fulfilled the instructions of the mysterious figures, only collapsing once she had reached the safety of the base. There, the mysterious figures treated her, and awaited her return to consciousness.

Meanwhile, unsure of what had set off Jaesa’s fit of madness, Captain Quinn did not attempt to revive her a second time, instead allowing her to rest until her body recovered on its own time. Left with only the knowledge of Darth Baras’ betrayal and the passing mention of a cave, Quinn and Vette continued to lead the crew in a frantic search for the missing Ishtaa.

In the midst of this frenzy, the Fury began receiving a flood of holocalls from Moff Broysc. Despite his burning wish to see Moff Broysc fall, Quinn tried to ignore the calls, burying his lust for vengeance beneath his desire to find Ishtaa alive and return to her side. However, it soon became clear that Broysc would not stop calling until Quinn answered personally. With Jaesa unconscious, Quinn was forced to rely on Vette—wearing Ishtaa’s spare robes and helmet—to provide backup and pose as his missing superior officer. Broysc proceeded to spew nonsense and verbally abuse Quinn or, as he called him, “Admiral Malcontent.” Quinn became infuriated, the embers of his hatred for the man stirred by the encounter. The intensity of his venom became so great that even Vette dared not tease him regarding his promotion to “Admiral” for fear that might lash out. 

In his despair over Ishtaa’s disappearance and seething frustration at his inability to stop Moff Broysc, Quinn began to stew, his thirst for revenge increasing with every passing moment.

His only relief came when the ship was abruptly contacted by the mysterious figures, who—after explaining their role as the Emperor’s Hand—brought the crew to the base where Ishtaa was recovering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always, ALWAYS greatly appreciated!


	28. Quesh

There she was. He had never seen her so serene, her face completely unperturbed by thought or feeling: cold, still, and unreadable. Stroking her cheek, he leaned in towards her face. 

“Didn’t lose you,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

Vette came up beside him and squeezed Ishtaa’s hand. “Will she be alright?” she asked the Sith Purebloods.

One of them steepled his fingers. “The smolders,” he said in a thin voice, “will become a blaze.”

The other one nodded. “Your master will recover in time,” he translated, seeing Vette’s face. “But I advise you to remain wary,” he added somberly. “The Wrath is newly fledged, and will be fragile for some time. Be cautious, and until you know what she is capable of, choose your enemies wisely.”

“The flames cannot be predicted.”

Vette elbowed Quinn. “These guys are weird,” she muttered.

He didn’t answer. He was stuck in a blank haze, the first moment of peace he had felt since Ovech had dropped the bombshell on him about Druckenwell; he just stood there for a long time, weaving his fingers through her hair mindlessly. She was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos greatly appreciated, as always!
> 
> Next time in "A Fool's Crime": Ishtaa's fragility is pushed to the limit, and Quinn's desire for revenge reaches a breaking point.


	29. Fury

Jaesa closed her eyes, trying to close out the darkness that seemed to be seeping into her, pouring into the ship through nooks and crannies she was sure did not exist. But her attempt was in vain. It didn’t matter how tightly she shielded herself. The darkness was in her mind.

She was startled by a blort from the door. In her frantic attempts to escape the residual darkness, she had stifled her senses; the Talz’s arrival took her completely by surprise.

“Broonmark!” she said, turning. “I didn’t notice you.”

He gurgled in reply. He asked if she wanted to practice fighting with him.

She smiled a little sadly. “Not today, Broonmark.”

He tilted his head at her. Then, his voice rising, he asked her if ‘Sith cub’ was feeling sick.

She laughed. “No, I’m not sick or injured. I just don’t feel like fighting today, that’s all.” The lie twisted in her throat. The only thing she wanted to do was fight; to slash, to slaughter, to kill. It scared her.

To make matters worse, Pierce had followed Broonmark to the door of her quarters. Jaesa had been on edge around him for weeks, since he overheard her conversation with Ishtaa; the man might not be a scholar, but he wasn’t stupid, and he was certainly smart enough to understand that a light-sided Sith was not only unusual, it was tantamount to treason.  
  
She hurried to amend her posture and tone of voice. “It is not enough to simply fight,” she said, ducking her head to imitate the hooded eyes of a corrupted Sith. “I need to savor it fully, relishing in the agony and the spilt blood of my enemies. Since I can’t actually kill you, I need to meditate on the power of the dark side first…to regain the satisfaction I lose from fighting without killing.”  
  
Broonmark gurgled in a put-out sort of way, but he didn’t push the matter.

Pierce, who had been standing by the doorway in silence, finally spoke. “C’mon, Broon,” he said. “Go get the practice weapons ready. I’ll go fight with you in a few minutes. It’s been a while since I had a proper fight. My trigger finger’s getting tense.”

Broonmark nodded. Relieved, Jaesa returned to her meditation. Her fright at seeing Pierce had intensified the darkness, to the point where it had almost turned into a physical ache.

A minute into her meditation, Jaesa started growing frustrated. The darkness was not subsiding. She opened her eyes with a sigh—and realized that Pierce was still standing in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes accordingly. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me, Imperial?” she sneered.

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, love,” he said, “you can drop the act.”

Jaesa paled. He knew. She should have known that her cover-up the other day hadn’t fooled him. She hoped against hope that she was wrong. This could jeopardize her entire mission. Scrambling to hide her mistake, she put on the fiercest face she could muster. “How dare you?” she said. “I’ll teach you to insult a Sith,” she said, trying to look as tall as possible. “By the sands of Korriban, I swear I’ll…I’ll…”

Pierce crossed his arms impatiently. “What, throw pillows at me?

Jaesa shrank back to her usual posture, her shoulders slumping slightly. “How did you know?” she asked in a small voice.

Pierce snorted. “I think the better question is how could I not know,” he said. “No offense, pet, but I’ve seen baby tauntauns scarier than you.” Jaesa trembled, her eyes wide and tearful. Pierce leaned against the wall. “Relax,” he said, sounding bored. “I’m not going to rat you out.”

Jaesa went weak with relief. “You’re not?”

To her astonishment, Pierce started to laugh. “C’mon,” he said. “Do I look like Captain Ponce to you? I don’t give a womp rat’s arse about Sith politics. To be completely honest, it’s nice to have a Sith in charge who doesn’t fry people for the hell of it. S’long as she lets me fight and don’t piss off the Dark Council too bad, makes no difference to me if she’s dark or light.”

She instinctively threw her arms around him—or at least, as far as her small arms would reach around the man’s enormous frame. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said gruffly. Extricating himself from the hug, he added: “Seriously, don’t. Last thing I need’s people saying I’ve gone soft.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Pierce nodded. “Good,” he said. “And one more thing: you probably shouldn’t go around telling people you and Ishtaa are recruiting. I might not care. But I don’t expect the Sith will be quite so understanding.”

Jaesa smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you again.”

He grunted. “I’d better go join Broonmark before he starts using 2V as a training dummy again. As much as I’d love to have that thing shut up, I don’t much fancy having to fix him.”

“Alright, I’ll see you around.”

Pierce bobbed his head and left.

Jaesa smiled as she watched him leave. Sometimes light could be found in the most unusual of places.

* * *

 

Ishtaa sighed as she returned to the ship, pausing to brace herself against the hull. She had a gash in her side, a cut on her forehead, and more bruises than she cared to count, but she was alive. More importantly, her enemies were dead; she had slain them all, cutting down anyone who dared to stand in her way.

She stopped again when she had reached the door of the ship, this time more out of annoyance than exhaustion: something was touching her lip. She swiped across her lips with the tips of her fingers to find the annoyance. They came away red and sticky.

She was just about to look in the nearest reflective surface—was it her blood from the cut on her forehead, or the blood of her enemies?—when she heard a noise behind her. She flew into a battle stance and raised her saber to strike.

Vette threw her hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Ishtaa shushed her. Vette complied, but stared at Ishtaa’s lightsaber uneasily. “It’s me,” she hissed. “Can you please put that thing away?”

With a pang of reluctance, Ishtaa put her saber away. She had been primed for the thrill of battle; to have it snatched from her grasp left her edgy and craving more. She tried to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth.

“Jeez,” whispered Vette exasperatedly. She crossed her arms. “Where were you anyway?”

Ishtaa scowled. “I told you. I had business to attend to.”

“All day?”

“That’s my business.” She was in no mood for conversation. Nodding her head at Vette brusquely, she made her way towards her quarters.

Vette stopped her with a gasp. “Oh my stars, what happened to your face?” Ishtaa tensed as Vette grabbed her upper arm to spin her around. The Twi’lek looked Ishtaa up and down with a horrified expression, seeing her properly for the first time now that she had stepped out of the shadows and under the auxiliary light. “You look like a rancor chewed you up and spat you out.”

Ishtaa yanked out of Vette’s unguarded grip with ease. She curled her lip. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said in a monotone. “Good night.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Vette stopped her again.

Ishtaa gave Vette a dark look. “Let go of my arm,” she said quietly.

“No way,” said Vette, “I’m going to wake Quinn. You need a doctor.”

“My injuries are my fault and my responsibility. Let go of my arm.”

“What has gotten into you?” Vette asked. “First you refuse to let any of us come with you and help, then you refuse to let Quinn heal you?”

Ishtaa broke free and Force-gripped her arm. Vette cringed, eyes widening as Ishtaa’s hold began to leave darkened patches on her skin.

“Ouch—Ishtaa, what are you doing?!”

She bared her teeth. “I said,” she growled, “let go of my arm.”

“ _Ishtaa_.”

Ishtaa released her grip as if she had been scalded. Vette’s mouth was moving, Ishtaa could see that, but the words didn’t match up with the sounds she was hearing, nor was the voice Vette’s. The sound didn’t even seem to be coming from an external source: it was coming from her head. She could feel it, something _other_ pressing against the inside of her skull. She had only felt a voice like this once before: the voice in the cave, the sourceless sound that had awoken her.

“Ishtaa!”

This time it was Vette’s voice. She could scarcely hear her, individual sounds muddled by a thick, distorted sound as if she were surfacing from deep water. She also got the impression that Vette had been trying to talk to her for a few seconds.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head, “you okay? You went all Sith-y for a minute there, but now you just look sick.” Her hand twitched as if she were resisting the impulse to reach out and touch Ishtaa’s arm. “You sure you don’t need some kolto?”

Ishtaa rubbed her temples. She suddenly felt very tired now that her anger had lessened. “My wounds are a lesson,” she said hoarsely. “If I don’t learn to cope with my weakness, I’ll never…” She swallowed. “I’ll never be strong enough.”

“Strong enough? To what? Beat Baras?”

She didn’t answer.

Vette kept her face and posture defensive, but her concern bled through. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Ishtaa’s scowl returned as abruptly as it had faded. “I don’t need your help.”

“No, you don’t need it, but it’d sure make things a hell of a lot easier,” Vette snapped.

Ishtaa struck the wall with the flat of her palm. “This isn’t about what’s easy.”

“What is it about, then? Why are you doing this? Deliberately making things hard on yourself, working yourself to the bone, shutting all of us out—”

“I HAVE TO DO THIS, VETTE!” She regretted shouting as soon as she had done it. Embarrassed, she ducked her head aside. “I have to. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Vette gave a bitter laugh halfway between a scoff and a breath. “Yeah? Well, you’re right about that,” she said. “I don’t understand.” She turned to leave, shaking her head. “I’m going to bed. Let me know if you decide to start acting like a human being.”

Ishtaa let her leave, her passions churning and mingling with the blood streaked across her face.

* * *

Quinn couldn’t sleep. Imperial High Command had finally responded to his requests to have Moff Broysc dealt with. They had refused. He had retired early after reading the transmission; he was too angry to think straight. A good night’s sleep, he had told himself in an attempt to remain calm, and then tomorrow morning you can decide what to do about Broysc. But he had failed to account for what he was capable of, and falling asleep in his current state had proved impossible. The hours slipped past with Quinn tossing and turning in his bed—first one way then the other, trying every configuration of pillow, sheet, and blanket imaginable.

Not for the first time that night—or morning, rather; he remembered that ‘tomorrow morning’ had technically arrived a few hours ago—he had to refrain from growling into the darkness of his quarters. Broysc. The arrogant, self-serving, disloyal bastard. No, he corrected himself, that would be an insult to bastards. The man…the thing was a disgrace to the Imperial military. No, he was worse; he was a disgrace to the galaxy, the lowest of low, the essence of filth. Quinn would rather die at the hands of the Republic than serve Moff Broysc ever again. Damn it all, he would rather serve the Republic, if it meant he could ruin Broysc. At least the Republic—wretched as they might be—at least they fought for something. A hypocritical, backstabbing something with no sense of order or integrity, but something. Broysc was a child, the worst sort of child without any of the redeeming qualities: vicious, obnoxious, and aimlessly tyrannical.

He finally disentangled himself from the sheets and sat up, flinging his pillow away. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back hunched over, his fingers knotted into a blanket. It was no wonder that he couldn’t sleep. The trappings of his bed were a dull replacement for what he really craved: a body to hold and press against him, hands to clutch at his back and tear apart the knotted muscles, to provide him some relief from his unbearable tension. He wanted to bury himself and tear himself apart, and hope that when he was put back together everything would be right.

He glowered at the wall. She was right there, just across the hall. He could hear the siren song through the soundproof walls, beckoning him to give in and release everything he had pent up.

No, he told himself firmly. She was forbidden to him. There were protocols.

Protocol, he repeated to himself angrily. It was always protocol, wasn’t it, getting in the way of success? It wasn’t enough to expect men to discipline themselves, was it? There always had to be red tape in the way, mucking things up, encouraging the complacent and the ordinary while crushing greatness into the dust.

On Balmorra, ensuring that mediocre officers kept their comfortable salaries while soldiers with ideas and courage were denied aid and reinforcements.

Here, keeping his feelings for Ishtaa a secret when he wanted the whole galaxy to know that she was more than his lord, making do with brushed fingertips and stolen kisses when he wanted to show her how he felt in the fullest sense, doing—no, even now, in the privacy of his room, he dared not go down that road. Which left…

Druckenwell…

He stood up suddenly, his jaw set. Something had changed within him. He had a distinct feeling of weight in his chest, but it no longer weighed him down, tensing into a pit in his stomach; instead it pulled him forward, as if a magnet or a tether were drawing him towards his destination.

It wasn’t a decision. No, that would imply a choice, an argument with pros and cons, considered and weighed with much consideration. This was certainty—the revolution of moons and stars, the passing of time, the pull of a trigger.

He would kill Moff Broysc.

 

 


	30. Fury

The moment Ishtaa had closed the door behind her, she felt changed. The solitude washed over her like a basin of cold water, cleansing her and jarring her with a burst of clarity that was too sharp to be pleasant; it stung.

She should apologize. She could see that now. Vette had done nothing wrong. If anything, she'd been trying to help. So often, she looked at Vette as a child, a consequence of their slight age gap which was not helped by the Twi'lek's girly voice, wide eyes, or fondness for pranks. But beneath that cheery blue exterior, Vette was wise beyond her 18 years, and possessed a maturity for which she was too rarely given credit.

It was Ishtaa who was acting like a child. She sat down as the pain came on in full force, no longer restrained by adrenaline or filtered by her hate. Her stomach knotted, whether from shame or from the pain she couldn't be sure.

_I really should apologize to Vette._

_And say what? "Hello, Vette. I'm sorry I keep turning into a psychotic mess and threatening to go on a homicidal rampage. I'm sorry that my whole world, everything I believed in unraveled in a single sentence, and now I'm—"_

Ishtaa rose from the bed and opened her eyes in one explosive movement. No. She was  _not_  unraveling. She wouldn't give Baras the satisfaction. She was going to stand tall and proud and alone, and she was going to watch him fall at her hand if it was the last thing she ever did, no matter what the cost.

_No. No, I can't. That's exactly what Baras would want me to do. I have to be strong. I can't give in._

_But you've already given in. You've broken. Look at the blood on your hands, the change in your heart. It's too late. You've already given yourself to cowardice._

_No…_ Her head was pounding now, each throb a painful reminder of her the wounds she had suffered in battle and in the cave.  _No, I have not. I am not a coward. I am strong._

_You are weak. Just like your father was, betrayed by his master before he could betray the master himself._

She gripped the dresser with a shaking arm, struggling to remain standing as her slick palms skidded, threatening to give way to her aching legs.  _No. No._

_Just like your mother was._

_He won't win._ The voice in her head was pleading, frail like a child's.  _He'll never win. I won't let him._

 _Weak._ The word filled her head, shrieking and growing until its shrill-toned chorus was all she could hear.  _Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak._

"I WON'T LET HIM."

She came to on the floor, gasping for breath. She felt like hell—her skin clammy, bile still stinging the back of her throat—but the darkness in her head had pushed too hard. It was gone, for now. The world around her surged back into being, her normal sensations returning.

A presence intruded on her thoughts.

She reached for a robe without thinking, pulling it over her tunic mechanically. Quinn was exactly what she needed right now. His presence would be a relief from the wreckage smoldering in her mind.

* * *

 

"Qui—" Crossing the threshold into the cockpit was like walking into the sea; the waves which had looked so sweet and cool from a distance proving hard and treacherous in the flesh, battering her with an unexpected brutality. She breathed in sharply. His eyes were shining and his posture, far from the straight, unyielding stance of protocol, was explosive, hunched with wound-up tension that was a feather's breath from lashing out.

Ishtaa found that her fingers had been ghosting over the arc of Quinn's shoulders from across the room. She snapped her arm back to her side and cleared her throat. "Captain, do you have news? How have your efforts with Imperial High Command gone?"

"Not well, my lord." Ishtaa shivered. Something was wrong. Quinn's voice had gone dark, possessed by a dark, gravelly tone that she had never heard him use before. If she didn't like it so much, she might have been scared. "I've gone as far up the chain of command as I can go," he said; the professional voice strained to regain control, but it was losing ground, giving way to the dark with every word. "No one is willing to confront him." Quinn raised his chin. "I've let this go on long enough. Ishtaa could tell by the shake in Quinn's hand that he was fighting to remain calm, but he was failing. His eyes, already alive with determination, shone with tears of fury. "I must deal with Broysc myself, once and for all."

She swallowed and nodded. "This is your calling, Quinn. Get to it."

He hesitated. For the briefest instant she could feel him racked with uncertainty, apology, longing, and fear mingling in equal parts as they flashed across his face. His hand found its way to her jaw, cupping her chin.

As suddenly as it had started, the spell was broken. Yanking his hand away, he clicked his heels. "My lord." And then he left, straightening his coat as he went, leaving Ishtaa dizzy from the surge of feeling.


	31. Various

**Nar Shaddaa**

Nar Shaddaa was bustling with the sounds of life and half-lives in between. Every moment that passed revealed something different, peeling away one layer of light a smoke only to reveal another beneath: a series of fleeting impressions that gave way before they were fully formed. The echoing flute of a distant siren grew louder as it shrieked close to the Promenade, filling the square with the chuttle of illicit deals hastily stowed under robes.

The spectacle was lost on Quinn, who wrinkled his nose at a puddle of urine—he  _hoped_  it was only urine—before carefully avoiding it, checking his boots to make sure their sheen had not been tarnished. He skirted around a six-handed vendor who tried to sell him an unmarked bottle of questionable legality.  _Disgusting,_ he thought privately. Why anyone would choose to visit this planet escaped him.

On a personal level, that is. Looking ahead, he understood from a clinical perspective  _exactly_ why the other cadets at the Academy had been so eager to spend their yearly recess on Nar Shaddaa. But he'd never felt the allure himself.

The 'allure' had spotted him. "Would you look at that?" The woman began to saunter towards him, twinkling with each exaggerated swing of her hips as a set of glittering gems embedded in her gold skin caught the neon lights. "Two Imperial officers in one day." She smirked and fluttered her eyelashes, where another set of gems framed her enormous pink eyes. "Though I have to say, you're much prettier than the other one was," she crooned. He tried not to flinch as she ran her talon-like nails along the angle of his cheekbones. "Face like that, I should offer you a discount." She giggled. "Might even do it for fun," she added in a whisper.

"I'm not here for  _fun_ ," he said curtly. "I'm looking for information." He pulled a compact datapad from his breast pocket. "Do you recognize this man?"

The woman  _tsk_ ed. "Oh, come on," she cajoled. "Nothing wrong with mixing work and pleasure…"

Quinn continued to hold the datapad up to her face.

The woman sighed and took the datapad. "Y'know, it's a real pity," she said with a pout, "pretty boy like you gets my hopes up, but you're so boring." She sniffed. "Though I can't say your friend here was much better. I'll take boring over him anyday."

Quinn chafed at the word "friend" but didn't say anything. "You've seen him, then?"

The woman handed back the datapad and lit a cigarette. "Course I've seen him," she said. Her words were muffled by the cigarette. "I said you were the second Imperial officer today. He was the first." She blew a puff of smoke. "Hell of a way to start the morning, too, man like that. Between you and me, I'm glad he didn't take to me. Feel sorry for the girl who he did."

 _Morning. He started whoring and drinking in the_ morning _. Typical._ "Did you see where he went?"

The woman nodded. "Took off with a new girl, young one by the name of Dalia. Light green skin, brown eyes, total sweetheart. They left ages ago, but he seemed like the type who'd take a while—doddin' off on spice and whatnot while he screws, losing track of time. Might still be there if you check the local barge."

Quinn nodded. "That's very helpful. Thank you." He handed the woman a small stack of credits. "Some payment for your trouble," he said. "I expect it should be adequate?"

The woman's jaw nearly touched the floor as she flipped through the stack. "Yeah," she said hoarsely. "Yeah, I'd call this adequate." She looked up at him. Her eyes had shifted color, the fierce pink replaced by a softer lavender shade. "Thank you."

"It goes without saying that I expect you to be discreet about this."

"Course!" the woman burst out, still glancing at the money in disbelief. "Yeah, no, of course. I won't tell a soul, promise. Never saw you in my life."

"Good." He turned to leave.

"This man's not a friend of yours, is he?"

Quinn stopped but didn't reply.

"That other officer. You're trying to kill him, aren't you?"

"And what makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "You get to read people when you work like me long enough. Decent sorts like you, they don't get on with sods like him. They…they stop them."

Quinn remained silent.

The woman laughed quietly. "Smart man. Never fess up if you can help it, right? I get it," she said. "I'm not asking you to tell me. Just…" She hesitated. "If you do kill him…give him a kick for me, would you? Give him a kick for my Dalia."

"I'll take it under advisement."

* * *

 

Quinn stopped before opening the door and took a deep breath.  _Focus._ He had to keep his mind on the task at hand. This was an operation, no different from any of the other missions he had carried out for the Empire before.

But no amount of reason could stop the anger that flared up in his chest when he heard the Moff's voice.

"Yes, one more round! The cards, deal them! One more round!"

Quinn curled his fists instinctively. In a flash, Druckenwell came flooding back to him.

" _One more round!"_

* * *

 

**Ten Years Earlier**

"One more round, you swine! Fire!"

A young lieutenant looked up from the console with glassy eyes.

"He's dead, sir." She swallowed thickly; her grimy, blood-smeared cheeks streaked with tears as she gripped the lifeless shoulder still slumped over the flashing buttons of the station. "Captain Harson is dead."

"Then move him! Move the body! I want that console active and firing now!"

"Sir—"

"DO IT!"

Biting her lip, Lieutenant Menera struggled to pull Harson away from the console. After several seconds of futile tugging, she realized she wasn't going to be able to pick him up and move him properly by herself.

She was saved the indignity of pushing him unceremoniously to the floor by a dark-haired lieutenant, who helped her set the body gently on the ground out of harm's way. There was no time to thank him, however, much less mourn her commanding officer, and she had no sooner taken her hands off the body than she hurried back to the console.

"Console is offline, sir; we've lost all communications with weapons deck."

Broysc roared in frustration. Without a second glance, he drew his blaster and fired. Menera dropped like a rag doll.

"Quinn," Broysc snarled, "get down to weapons and bring communications back online. I want this ship firing on all targets. QUICKLY. GET MOVING!"

The lieutenant bowed his head. "Yes… _sir_ ," he said curtly. His jaw was clenched, but he showed no hesitation as he left the bridge, his eyes flitting only briefly over Menera's still-surprised face on his way out the door.

He wasted no time with the lifts. Instead, he slid down an access ladder to weapons deck; now was not the time to get stuck in an elevator.

Weapons was chaos when he arrived, sheer panic the only thing thicker than the layer of smoke that hung over the room. He punched the "emergency alert" button as he passed it to turn off the blaring siren; everyone knew there was a crisis, no need for red lights and blaring noise to tell them that.

"Status report."

"We've lost contact with the bridge and the rest of the fleet. Shields are failing fast. We can bring them both back online, but it will take time."

"You three, get communications up and running. Restore connection to the bridge first. Then establish communications with the fleet. You," he said, "Ensign...?"

"Raphes, sir."

"Raphes, see what you can do about those shields."

"Aye, sir."

"What's our firing capability?"

"We can have torpedoes up in a matter of minutes. Targeting systems could be a bit more complicated."

Quinn braced himself for bad news. "Complicated how?"

The other lieutenant winced. "We have manual control, but our computing systems are on the fritz. We'll need to get in close if we're going to hit the broad side of a Hammerhead, much less shields or torpedo cannons."

"Right. Get those torpedoes ready. The Moff wants us firing, and he's not in a patient mood."

"Understood."

"How are we doing on communications?"

The ensign looked up, wiping a hand across his brow. "It's messy, but audio and visual with the bridge should be back online."

"Patch it through."

"Yes, sir."

Quinn clasped his hands behind his back as the holo sputtered to life.

"Sir," he said, "we've restored contact to the bridge. Torpedoes are at the ready, but we'll need to get in close if we're to hit anything. Awaiting your orders."

There was a static-filled delay. "—blasted underlings! I've told you my orders, damn you! Fire on that starship! Now!"

" _Quinn, you'd better take a look at this!_ "

He looked over. "One moment!" He returned his attention to the Moff. "Understood," he said. "We will proceed with the attack, sir." The holo shut off. Quinn turned to the other lieutenant. "Needa, what is it?"

"Sensors are still down, so we're relying on visual. I was about to calculate the proper trajectory when I noticed…" He brought up the battle-space on holo and zoomed in on the area around the Republic flagship. "There," he said, pointing, "just behind the _Star of Panteer._ A whole second section, waiting in ambush. They must have slipped past our sensors, some sort of cloaking technology."

"Are they in range?"

"Not yet. But if we get much closer, we'll be in theirs long before we're close enough to aim."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Are shields operational?" Raphes stammered an incoherent reply. Quinn scowled. "Ensign!"

He groaned. "I'm trying, sir, but it's difficult. We're being hit by enemy fire faster than the shield can regenerate."

"Keep at it." Quinn stroked his chin, thinking hard. "You're sure we can't hit them at this distance?"

Needa shook his head. "The odds are astronomical. We'd be shooting in the dark."

"And we can't get any closer?"

"Don't have much choice, do we? You heard the Moff." Quinn just stared at the battle playing out on the holo. Needa shook him. "Quinn?"

"Turn this ship around."

"What?"

"Access the Emergency Navigational Override and turn this ship around. Hurry!" Startled by the sudden, authoritative bark in the normally reserved lieutenant's voice, a group of nearby ensigns jumped and scurried to their stations in a chorus of "yes, sirs." Quinn stalked over to the holo, where he began pushing buttons to modify the display.

The holo pinged, and the image changed: Quinn's view of the battle turned into a very irate Moff Broysc.

"What do you think you are doing? Turn this ship around! Turn it, I say! Turn—"

Quinn pushed a button and the Moff vanished, replaced once more by a map of the ongoing battle. Quinn pointed to one of the vessels.

"This ship," he said to Needa. "It doesn't look like a military vessel. Its weapons and shielding are negligible. What class is it?"

Needa still looked shell-shocked by Quinn's defiance, but he rattled off the technical information without wavering. "I'm not positive, but it looks like a cargo ship…Class VI, maybe a modified  _Praetorian_." He frowned. "Why would the Republic bring a cargo ship into a battle like this?"

Quinn lowered his hand. " _Voloren_."

"What?"

Quinn turned from the holo and crossed towards the Emergency Navigational Override. " _That's_  what they're doing here," he said as he walked. Needa followed, confused. "I was on assignment tailing SIS Agent Voloren in an adjacent system before Broysc called me here. Several of the messages we intercepted indicated that the Republic was planning a shipment of prototype mines, but there was never enough data to determine a location. Druckenwell's a manufacturing world. Weapons development. I'd bet you anything that's what the Republic is doing here. Broysc would know that if he'd read any of my reports." He started typing numbers into the Override. "We've got to get closer to that freighter." He entered a few more numbers, and then hit "activate." The Override beeped and glowed green.

Quinn faced the deck at large. "All hands to weapons! Repeat," he shouted, "all hands to weapons!"

The ship lurched as it abruptly changed course, sending officers stumbling as they went to the nearest post.

Quinn barely swayed from his parade rest, only breaking posture to brace himself against a terminal. "All weapons active! Manual targeting on! Set targets to Point Six-Six-Delta-Gamma-Seven, motion tracking Alpha at 400 kilometers per hour, on my mark!"

Needa eyed Quinn in his peripheral vision, a grimace plastered on his face. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Quinn gave no indication that he had heard. "Ready! Aim!" He waited, eyes fixed on the cargo ship growing steadily larger on the holo. "FIRE!"

Time seemed to stop. Quinn watched silently as the torpedo flashed across the display, ignoring the eyes that were fixed on him from every corner of the room. He ignored everything that wasn't the holo. If he was wrong…

There was no time for rumination. His heart twisted as the torpedo made contact with the cargo ship.  _Work. Please, please work…_

And then the display lit up, plumes of smoke and vivid fire unfurling from the cargo ship. Quinn let himself be jostled by the others as they cheered and clapped him on the back.

* * *

 

"NO, DAMN YOU!"

Quinn started, his memories mingling with the sound of applause in the other room. The illusion was broken by Broysc's indignant shrieks.

"You—you cheat! I'll have you hanged for that, you miserable cad!"

He could hear that grating, painfully familiar voice, that caricature of a grandfather's chuckle, from the entrance. It seemed to drown out everything else in the room: the cantina band, the shrill giggles of slave dancers flirting as if their lives depended on it, the rumble of arguing Hutts, all faded beneath that voice.

He found the source of the noise as soon as he opened the door, sitting on the opposite side of the room on a pile of overstuffed cushions.

"Rigged! You are all rigged! End this conspiracy, I demand it! I command you! All of you!" One of the dancers cried out as the Moff grabbed her arm. Quinn could see his yellow nails digging into the girl's skin. "You! You did this! You betrayed your commanding officer, Empress! Death! Treason! I'll have you shot on sight!"

"Sir, you're hurting my arm—ow!"

Quinn stepped forward. Opportune moment be damned, he couldn't stand to wait for this any longer. He clamped a hand on the Moff's shoulder. "Sir," he said quietly, "there's a problem on your ship. You're needed outside. If you wouldn't mind following me…"

"To hell with my ship!" the Moff snapped, shaking free from Quinn's grip. "I want this traitor eliminated. Seize her! Throw her in the brig! Give her—"

Quinn jammed his blaster into the Moff's ribcage. He shut up. Even senile, he knew the feeling of a weapon in his side. He turned to stare at Quinn, shocked into silence.

"I said," Quinn in a low voice, " _follow me._ "

Recognition flashed in the Moff's watery eyes. "You…"

Quinn swiftly drew a tranquilizer from his coat and jabbed the Moff in the base of the neck, knocking him out before he could cause a scene. The old man broke off mid-sentence, slumping head-first onto the pazaak table.

The incident did not go unnoticed. A few of the players were glancing over, eyebrows rising in alarm. It did not appear that any of them had noticed the syringe. Quinn hastily stowed it.

"Apologies," he said, pulling the Moff's arms over his shoulders in a half-carry. "It would appear the Moff has had too much to drink. I'll see he's taken care of."

The partygoers, either too slow to catch on or too drunk to care, did not protest. One or two of them shot a last, curious look in his direction, but the game went on. The talkative buzz in the room returned to its normal level.

Quinn strained to look down at the unconscious Moff, savoring the moment of victory. Finally. The Moff was in his grasp. He had triumphed. He was free to end this, to bring vengeance upon the wretched man once and for all, and Ishtaa would be there to see it by his side.

But even in a roomful of partygoers, a comatose Imperial officer would stand out eventually. Intoxicated by adrenaline, he hoisted the body up off the ground and set off for a transport back to the ship.


	32. Fury

Quinn stared down the barrel of his blaster, breathing heavily. It was done. So many years of waiting were over. The Moff was dead.

He had expected more, somehow. After all that time building his revenge up in his mind, he thought it would feel better to be staring down at the man's cold corpse. But there was no satisfaction, no sense of glee. All he felt was a detached sense of rightful disdain: justice had been served.

It angered him a little. How  _dare_  he? How dare the Moff die so easily? He should have dragged it out longer, made the wretch suffer…

On impulse, he shoved the body with his foot, flipping it over so the Moff stared outwards with unseeing eyes.  _A kick. As promised_. It changed nothing. Kick or no, he felt the same thing: a flat, anticlimactic certainty that justice had been served, clashing horribly with the hate and thirst that still burned within him.

The job was not yet finished. Quinn pushed a button to raise a waste incinerator compartment from the grating on the floor. But even as he watched the Moff's body consumed by the flames, he found no relief. He still wanted.

* * *

 

"The body has been disposed of, my lord." He swallowed. "No more of Moff Broysc's men will have to endure his whims and incompetence." He turned to her, hoping she couldn't see him shaking. "Thank you for seeing this through."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "The Empire is better for it."

"My sentiments  _exactly_ ," he hissed, his voice breaking. She was catching on. He couldn't let her see this side of him, this anguish. He struggled to keep his voice steady as he spoke, though the words were pouring out of him automatically, almost thoughtlessly. "I do not feel conflicted in the least," he said. "Not about anything." He stopped.  _There_. Something had changed. Something had fallen back into place, smoothing out the jagged edges of his hatred for Moff Broysc. Something stronger. He looked up to meet her beautiful green eyes. They mirrored the frenzy in his heart. "Including you."

Now that the words were out, he found he couldn't stop. "I've held back long enough," he said. "Been too rigid, too inflexible." He steeled himself, burying the last traces of doubt that flickered through. "I won't suppress my feelings and desires any longer."

* * *

 

" _Come with me to my quarters. I'll show you how I feel."_

" _Lead the way."_

He closed the gap between their bodies, pulling her against him with all the force of battle. There was no noise in the tussle, just his lips dueling against hers. Ishtaa started as she felt teeth join the fray, grazing across her lower lip. The moment of hesitation was all Quinn needed. His tongue delved into her mouth, drawing forth the first sounds Ishtaa had made since their bodies met.

The feeling was too much. She broke away, gasping for air. Quinn did not pause; he simply trailed his lips along her jaw as she spoke. "We should move."

He had reached her ears. She could feel his breath against her skin. She shivered at his murmured reply. "That can be arranged."

They stumbled into the hallway, hands and fingertips fumbling over clothing in a string of over-eager caresses that broke off and changed direction without rhyme or reason. Ishtaa's heart squeezed as if she had fallen unexpectedly. Quinn's presence was a drug. She drank it in greedily, through her lips, through her skin, through the air until she was thrumming with energy. The thrill of battle was nothing…no…was it the same thrill? Her head was spinning, confusing her train of thought.

Her heart gave another squeeze, this one distinctly unpleasant, as they reached her quarters. Quinn's hands began working at the fastenings of her armor.

_Killing. Blood spilling down the hot, stone steps, seeping into the sands of Korriban._

She kissed him with renewed fervor, trying to drown out her mind in sensation.

_Cold. Alone in the cavern._

She breathed deeply, craving the scent of Quinn's aftershave, something familiar to cling to. He smelt of blood and sweat. Her mouth tinged with something metallic.

 _Ishtaa_. It was Baras' voice.

She made a little noise, pathetic, almost a squeak.

Quinn had pulled back to look at her in puzzlement. "Ishtaa?" She gripped his arms, holding on for dear life, something to keep the terrors at bay.

 _Lies. All lies._ Baras' voice was echoing in her head now.

 _Ishtaa._ The voice from the cave. Baras' growl became a drum beat in the background. Quinn's mouth was moving, but it was the voice from the cave that she heard.

She closed her eyes. Distantly, she was aware that Quinn was saying her name, but she couldn't hear him. Something groaned, a metal pipe straining to remain straight.

 _Ishtaa…_ An image floated before her eyes: a face much like her own, but lined and weary. As she watched, the image changed, warping and twisting the beautiful lines into another face, cold and mechanical. Like death.

"Ishtaa!"

Something snapped as Quinn's voice broke through the mayhem. Ishtaa's eyes flew open as a pipe in the wall gave way and exploded, sending metal shards and steam flying everywhere.

Quinn threw himself in front of her, shielding her from the debris. Hot air whistled out for a second, and then all was silent.

Ishtaa dragged her hands across the muscles of her neck, hoping the sting would drive away some of the tension, but her fingertips left no scratches in their assault against her skin. She squinted at her nails as if seeing them for the first time; they were bitten to the quick, pitted, and torn, her cuticles raw from the abuse.  _When had that happened?_ , she wondered. She had never had a tic before. She couldn't have. Not in training, when the other acolytes would have torn her apart at the first sign of weakness. Certainly not on assignment. Had the past few weeks really been so trying, for the pathways in her brain to have rewritten themselves? Had she really been so idle in the downtime—

But what had she done with her downtime?

A creeping awareness went through her. She had no idea what she had been doing most of the time. All those hours—too restless to stay in bed, not yet healed enough for battle; once she finally did heal, biding her time in the shadows, out of Baras' sight—were static: blank gray slates that hissed meaningless radiation in nonsense patterns.

Her throat closed up. She clutched her hands in curled fists against her head. The static was too loud. Why was she so empty?

Her knuckles brushed against— _battle, bloodshed_. Her temples spasmed in protest.

 _Gasp._ She uncurled her hands and inhaled sharply. As the stars cleared from her sight, she saw her fingers loom before her. She flexed them experimentally. Small hands, too knobby to be a child's, too unkempt to be elegant.  _Gardener's hands_ , she thought, and then she almost laughed hysterically. What did that even mean? What did a gardener's hands look like? And she had scarcely touched a plant in her life.

Gardener's hands were joined by doctor's. Not cold or clammy—warm, sturdy but not rough, the hands that she would want touching her forehead in a fever, or stitching up a wound in the heat of battle. Holding her hand when she was sure she was going mad.

"Ishtaa?"

She released a shaky breath. When had it gotten so cold? It was coming from her bones, freezing the room.

"My lord?"

She looked up. Quinn was staring at her.

His stare nearly broke her. She had expected to see confusion, anger, disappointment, frustrated desire. But there was none of that. He wasn't irked by her reaction or hoping to get on with it. He wasn't even hurt by a perceived rejection. He was just worried, and his fear for her shone through his entire face. The worst were his eyes: blue and desperate.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. " _Sorry_ ," she said in a strangled whisper, the threat of tears rising in her throat like she was going to be sick.

His fingertips traced the outline of the cut on her temple. "You've been wounded."

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she protested. But the words were not even out her mouth before Quinn was rising from the bed, retrieving a medkit from where it had fallen alongside Ishtaa's armor. He returned to her swiftly, all poise and professionalism as he ran a small device along the wound, stinging her as it sealed the skin back together. When the sealant had dried he kissed her forehead, pulling her close.

"You're stable," he murmured.

"No," she said brokenly. "I'm not. I'm terrified." She wiped her face furiously. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "Since Baras confronted me in that cave, I've felt like I'm going mad. I don't know what's true anymore. Everything I believed in, what I fought for…" Her voice died out. She looked up at Quinn, hating the pained look in his eyes. "Stay with me?"

"Of course."

* * *

Ishtaa didn't open her eyes when she woke up. She just lay there for several minutes, absorbing her surroundings. She wasn't alone. Normally, that fact in itself would have alarmed her. Even on Korriban, she had slept with one eye open, waiting for trouble to strike. Since Baras' betrayal—since she found out the truth—her already wary sleep had been plagued with nightmares of falling, the floor breaking beneath her feet. But she didn't have any nightmares, and the presence in her bed didn't frighten her. It felt safe and right, like the arm draped over her chest was a shield against assassins and night terrors.

She smiled, snuggling closer to the warm body in front of her.  _Quinn._  It wasn't until she thought the name that she remembered what had happened the night before. A wave of embarrassment wiped the smile of her face. Her cheeks burned as the events of last night flashed before her eyes like scenes from a holo-drama: how Quinn had invited her to bed, only to have to deal with her emotional breakdown. It made her cringe just to think about it.

She delayed it as long as she could, but she knew she would have to open her eyes eventually. When she did, she was relieved to find that Quinn's eyes were still shut. He looked different when he slept. She was so used to watching him calculate and plan at every second of the day that it was disconcerting to see him otherwise. He looked relaxed and strangely soft; the way his dark eyelashes curled almost made him look feminine, except for the hardness of his jaw and the permanent stubble covering it.

She let out a soft, happy sigh.

"Morning, my lord."

She sat straight up, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest. "Quinn? You've been awake all this time with your eyes closed?"

His lips curled into a smirk, but he didn't open his eyes. "Would you have preferred me staring at you while you sleep?"

"Probably not," she said, sinking back into the pillows. "I just thought you would have left as soon as you woke up. You're usually working by the time I roll out of bed."

He opened his eyes at that. "You really think that?"

"What? That you're an early riser?"

"No," he said, propping himself up on one elbow. "You really think I would do that? Spend the night then leave you in the morning?"

Her brows furrowed, confused. "Not the way you're saying it. I just thought you'd have things to do."

"They can wait." He lowered his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. She closed her eyes automatically, sinking into the kiss until she felt enveloped by warmth. " _Mm_." Quinn drew back suddenly. "There is something I need to ask you now that you're awake."

She pushed back the hair that had fallen across his face as he leaned over her. "Permission to speak candidly."

"It's the pipe." He turned to look over his shoulder. "The whole wall, actually."

She squinted at it. The damage was apparent in the brighter imitation daylight. It wasn't just a pipe that had exploded, the metal impressed with what appeared to be a hand: the whole wall was battered, cracked in some places, paint chipping in others.

"Ah. I didn't realize I had made such a dent in my quarters."

"Nor did I, until I'd…er…settled down. I was going to ask 2V to repair the damage." He said it as a question. She raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

"That sounds reasonable."

"And I was wondering what you would like me to tell him as to why your wall is damaged. That is…I wouldn't want the crew to get the wrong impression."

She brushed her toes along his leg under the blankets. "Or the right one."

"My lord, I'm serious."

Ishtaa sighed. "I understand," she said impatiently, "you don't know whether I want the crew to know about us. And my answer is I don't care. Let them know."

"With all due respect, my lord, I don't think what happened last night was really about 'us.'"

She stopped, lowering the hands that had been knotting in his hair. "What exactly—"

"I don't mean it like  _that_ ," he said quickly, "though I admit I wasn't myself after what happened with…" He flustered. "My point is, what I saw happen to you last night frightened me."

"You were scared I would lose control and hurt you?"

"I wasn't scared  _of_  you, I was scared  _for_  you." He clasped her hands. "I know that you're a Sith, and there are things I will never understand about that. But even if I can't protect you from…whatever it is that's been happening to you as of late…I can still protect your secrets. If you wish it."

Ishtaa made a scathing noise and rolled over. "I was weak."

"You're not weak. You're strong and brave and intelligent and beautiful, and when I said it excited me to think how you would shape the galaxy I meant it."

"Why else would you suggest that I hide it? It is a weakness."

"Having a vulnerability is not the same as being weak," Quinn said firmly. "You carry a burden, and I'm honored that you permit me to see it. But there are people who might want to use that burden to hurt you. I'm trying to help you. Nothing more."

Ishtaa flopped onto her back, thinking. She closed her eyes wearily. "Does 2V have a restraining bolt?"

"Yes."

"Very well." She opened her eyes to look at Quinn. "Tell 2V what you will. His restraining bolt should prevent him from telling anyone else."

"Do you plan to tell anyone else about what's been happening to you?"

"I don't see any reason to tell Pierce. I suspect Broonmark would be tempted to 'cleanse me,' even if I did beat him once before. Vette will find out regardless of whether I tell her, obviously. It's probably best she doesn't pester me to death before I can tell her in person. Jaesa…" She grimaced. She hated to taint Jaesa's innocence. But then, she supposed that her naïveté would have to go eventually. "Jaesa deserves to know. She can feel my conflict, and it's hurting her. I would do her a disservice not to tell her."

"That seems wise."

"I hope so." She paused. "I am sorry about last night," she said. "Crying and smashing walls probably isn't what you were expecting when I let you carry me off."

"Not quite. But we have some time before the ship is supposed to stop." He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. "Weren't you saying something earlier about 'the right idea'?"

Ishtaa grinned. "Let's try not to break anything else," she said before she tackled him.


	33. Interlude & Voss

_Shortly after Quinn's revenge on Moff Broysc, the Hand called upon Ishtaa to take the first step in destroying Darth Baras. Although her missions assigned to her on Belsavis were unpleasant, requiring her to operate in secret to avoid Baras' attention, she found the moments away from battle to be some of the most peaceful in her life._

_Quinn began spending nights in Ishtaa's room. The rest of the crew raised a few eyebrows, but nobody protested. Having Quinn to comfort her changed Ishtaa, lending her a stability she had not possessed since the incident on Quesh. Her outbursts of temper and days of moodiness faded. When not fighting, she took to exploring the wild forests and volcanic mountains of the planet—training with Jaesa and bonding with the rest of the crew—and by nights, she returned to Quinn's arms._

_But the peace did not last forever. After Belsavis, Ishtaa was sent to Hoth for what should have been a routine exercise in persuasion. She finished her mission, only to be met by Lord Draahg upon her return to the ship…and her entire crew, apparently lifeless on the ground. She defeated Draahg, but seeing her closest companions so close to death shook her, and made her realize how deeply she depended on all of them, most of all Quinn. She clung even more desperately to Quinn and her crew as she made her way to Voss, still terrified by the thought of losing them…_

* * *

 

**Voss**

Quinn was gasping by the time he reached the door of the hut, but he was too frantic to care about the stitch in his side or the ache in his throat. All he cared about was the message.

" _Your master's sent for you. It's urgent."_

Urgent was an understatement. Even if her survival was no longer a secret, Ishtaa was keeping her activities quiet. She wouldn't broadcast her movements or location by sending him a message through random Imperial soldiers unless her situation was dire.

There were two more soldiers waiting inside.

"You're the captain the Sith sent for?"

Quinn nodded.

"In there," one of them said, indicating a room with a closed door.

Quinn thanked them and hurried into the room.

"My lord—" He stopped dead in his tracks. He'd gone over a thousand scenarios on the way…Ishtaa wounded, Ishtaa ill, Ishtaa tortured, Ishtaa dead or dying…but he could not have foreseen the holo-projector, or the man it cast before him in the middle of the room.

Darth Baras.

" _You_."

"Captain Quinn. I was wondering how long it would take you to arrive. You must have been very worried to have gotten here so quickly." He paused. "How unfortunate."

Quinn became acutely aware of the blaster holstered to his belt. His fingers ached to squeeze the trigger and shoot his way out, to run and warn Ishtaa, but he knew that, even in holo form, his chances of escaping Baras were slim to none.

"The soldiers outside are under orders to keep you here. But I'm sure you've already deduced that it would be prudent to work with me."

He swallowed hard. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could almost feel fat fingers clenching around his throat.

"You're deluded if you think you're getting any information out of me."

There was no question now. The grip on his neck was definitely tightening.

"Mind your tongue," Baras snarled. He relinquished his grip, causing Quinn to sputter and cough reflexively. "Another Sith would break your neck for such insolence." He looked down at Quinn indulgently. "But I am merciful, and I will ignore this impudence in light of your current state."

"What 'state?'"

"When I promoted you, Captain, and let you off Balmorra, I thought I was promoting a man who was unfailingly loyal to the Empire. I had no doubt that you would do whatever necessary to promote the Empire's interests, and to protect it from those who would see it corrupted or destroyed." He stopped pacing. "Obviously, even the best of us can be mistaken."

Quinn glared up at him. "You question my loyalty?"

Baras' head snapped around to face Quinn. "Questions are for the uncertain. I learned what I needed to know the moment my true apprentice set off those explosives on Quesh, when you learned that the deceiver lived and failed to inform me immediately."

"I serve my master."

"Your loyalty should be  _mine_ ," Baras snapped. "Those soldiers informed you that your  _master_  had sent for you with good reason. I am your master. You serve me, not this forsaken apprentice. Or have you forgotten so easily who it was who rescued you from the slime of Balmorra?"

Quinn's reply died in his throat. It seemed like so long ago; so much had happened since then, but Ovech's words were suddenly as fresh as if they had been spoken yesterday.  _Have you lost your mind?_

"I seek the good of the Empire."

"You have to gall to claim the ability of discerning the Empire's best interests? You are but a peon on the galactic scale of affairs, a common soldier. This Empire is run by the Sith, and it exists only to serve Sith interests. You would do well to remember that."

"Lord Ishtaa is as much a Sith as you."

"She is NOT," Baras ground out from between his teeth.

Quinn shivered as a wave of energy went through the room, rattling the furnishings. Baras appeared to realize his lack of control, and rested his hands at his side before he continued.

"Ah, but I forget. Your error is not entirely your own. I had best store up my anger for those who have earned it."

"By outliving their usefulness as loyal servants?"

"Ishtaa was no servant of mine, and I doubt she is even capable of loyalty. The execution of my spies was a necessary loss. This is different. She is a deceiver of the highest order. She fooled even me for quite some time."

"What are you talking about?" Quinn sneered.

"Let's not waste time with pretensions, Quinn," Baras said patronizingly. "My information tells me that you have grown very close to Ishtaa. Do you deny it?" Quinn remained silent. "As I thought," said Baras. "My apprentice has seduced you into blind allegiance."

"She did not  _seduce_ me," spat Quinn, "and I do not follow her blindly. I—"

"Let me guess. You 'love her.'"

Quinn's hands curled into fists, his eyes blazing and his jaw trembling with fury. If Baras had been anyone else, anything less than one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy, he would have torn him to shreds with verbal abuse. The only thing that halted his reflex to lunge at the man was the fact that it was a holo-projection, incorporeal and incapable of being harmed.

Baras clucked his tongue. "Look at yourself, Quinn. Look what she's done to you. You are barely controlling your temper. You used to be so calm. You kept yourself in line, you had your feet on the ground, and you stood for the Empire." Quinn began to protest, but Baras cut him off. "If you had to choose between the Empire and Ishtaa, which would you choose?"

He scoffed. "What a ridiculous question. Ishtaa is a top-notch fighter and a brilliant leader. Losing her would be a strategic—"

" _Which_ ," Baras repeated, "would you choose?"

Quinn blinked rapidly. "The Empire," he said flatly.

"Really? So if you could watch her die, in order that the Empire might live, you would do it?"

He repressed a shudder. Belsavis had come back to him. It had passed mercifully quickly, but there had been one night—a night when Ishtaa was away from the ship, travelling with Jaesa to find the Dread Masters—when he had been plagued with nightmares for hours on end. They came flooding back to him, images of her sharp green eyes staring blankly ahead, glassy in death, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, and he knew, he could see by her face, that she had died in pain.

_If we were involved…_

"Quinn."

He came to, startled by Baras' voice. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes.

Baras began to pace again with a sigh. "Quinn, Quinn, Quinn…How could this have happened? Did you not realize that it would end this way? You are compromised."

_I have been compromised._

"No." Quinn shook his head. "That's not…I—what does it matter who I would choose?" he burst out, stammering. "That would never happen. There is no possible scenario where it would benefit the Empire to lose her. To hell with where my loyalties lie…her, the Empire, wherever. There is no conflict!"

"That's where you are wrong." He stopped his pacing, and braced himself against a desk. "Have you read any of the reports filed about your missions under Lord Ishtaa?"

"The ones that weren't classified," Quinn said cautiously.

"Did you? Then surely you've noticed a pattern running through them." Baras waved a hand, and all at once the viewscreen was filled with documents and reports, official paperwork that floated across the screen. Baras tapped one of them and brought it to the center, where it blew up to a legible size. "'Lord Ishtaa is competent at her work, but she employs tactics unexpected in a Sith,'" he read aloud. "'Suggest further monitoring.'" He tapped another one. "'Lord Ishtaa deviated from the recommended course of action, which had been vetted by other Sith, and pursued her own agendas. Though it was within her power to do so, it is the humble opinion of this outpost that her defiance of Sith norms should be evaluated.' And another, 'In choosing to spare the lives of enemy combatants, Lord Ishtaa has endangered the future success of the Empire by creating the expectation of mercy.' On and on and on!" he ended with a shout, banishing all the documents with a wave of his arm. "Don't you see? She is a threat to the Empire. Do you think these Imperial soldiers would comment on her behavior otherwise? You saw for yourself after the Battle of Druckenwell how reluctant they are to risk their own necks by contradicting their superiors, even when the situation is dire. The fact that they are speaking up now…it is nothing short of damning."

"No," said Quinn. "You're trying to trick me. You've fabricated these-these reports, trying to make me turn on her. I won't do it."

"Why would I go to the trouble of turning you on false pretenses? Understand: I am going to destroy her. I must. She is a pestilence to the Empire, and for the Empire's sake I cannot let her continue to live. I have the means to kill her a thousand times over, and none of them depend on a lowly captain. I have no need of your help."

"Then why bring me here?"

"I am trying to help you, Quinn," said Baras impatiently. "I rescued your career because I saw that you had potential. The question is, will you let me save you now?"

"I don't need saving."

"Then you are a fool. I have proven to you that she is a danger to the Empire, and you have already admitted that your judgment is clouded, yet you refuse to take any action against her, because of what? Your unrequited love?"

Quinn stumbled, taken aback. He stood there mutely, trying and failing to form a protest.

Baras didn't wait for one to come out. "I suppose you mean to tell me that it is not unrequited," he said sardonically. "You think that this beautiful, young, intelligent, strong, powerful Sith would love you? A disgraced Imperial soldier who has missed his chance?"

Quinn couldn't even try to protest now. He had closed his eyes, bracing himself against the gnawing ache in his chest, and just waiting for Baras' onslaught to stop.

It went on. "I don't deny the possibility that her physical attraction to you is in earnest, but think rationally. Do you really think that such a relationship would last? Could you stake everything," Baras asked, "your career, your better judgment, your Empire, on a paltry fling?" He let out a bark that bordered on laughter. "Why, she is already planning her next escapade. Bored of the proper officer, she takes on a roguish soldier."

Quinn's eyes shot open. "Don't be ridiculous!" he retorted. "Ishtaa would never take Pierce as a lover. It's absurd!"

"More absurd than being drawn to a stuffy, bookish disgrace?"

Quinn could feel himself shaking as he struggled to breathe without letting Baras detect the lump in his throat.

"Be rational, Quinn. Don't let your misplaced affections rule your head. Do you want to fall with her? Or stand with the Empire?"

He stared at the ground without answering for a long time. Thoughts swirled in his head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. He was compromised…a fling…misplaced…worthless…

"What must I do?" he said quietly, not raising his eyes from the ground.

He heard approval in Baras' voice, but it did nothing to change the sensation that there was a piece of cold stone in his breast, and a hollow in the pit of his stomach.

"Welcome back to life, Captain Quinn."

He flinched at the mocking familiarity of the words. He turned his head aside, his eyes still fixed on the ground.

"You will return to your ship, and behave as if nothing has happened. As for enabling my plans, you need not worry. I require nothing more than your loyalty for the time being. I have already made arrangements for the traitor's death. There are several apprentices who are eager for a subject on which to test their prowess and…creativity. With their methods, her actual death may take some time, but I intend to have her in custody in short order. I will inform you when I have further instructions." He made as if to end the call.

"Wait." Quinn looked up, no longer hiding his face. There were tears in his eyes, but he didn't care if Baras knew his agony. There was something more important that he had to do. "Let me do it." He couldn't help it; the tears began to flow. "I know she's a danger to the Empire, but I can't…" He broke off. "Please," he said raggedly. "Let me be the one to end her life."

Baras hesitated, considering.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. "You have one month. And if you should go back on your word…" He trailed off, the threat evident.

Quinn gave a stiff bow. "Yes…my lord."

He didn't move from the bow until he heard the the crackle of the holoprojector turning off, and when he did, he did not stand upright. Instead he crumpled, curling in on himself until he sunk to his knees, and let himself give in to the weeping.


	34. Fury

_They were kissing again, tangled up in the sheets, their breath catching in gasps when they broke apart for air._

_Quinn closed his eyes in a daze of sensation, so lost that he offered no resistance as Ishtaa suddenly changed gears and rolled over, her hair falling down like a curtain around their faces as she pinned him to the bed._

_He was out of himself, as if watching the scene unfold from a distance, the movements and the noises he made weren't his own. When his arm reached out to wrap behind Ishtaa's back, holding a vibroknife, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't stop it, couldn't even cry out a warning as the blade pierced her skin, blooming crimson blood in rivulets from the wound…_

Quinn awoke with a start. He was breathing hard and his fingers ached. He watched them unfurl as he slowly loosened the viselike grip he held on the sheets. He let out a long breath, half sigh and half gasp, as the truth sank in. It was just another nightmare.

He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. A glance at the chrono on the nightstand showed that he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, the ship still decidedly in its night-cycle. He looked across the bed to see Ishtaa's sleeping form draped in white, unmarred by blood.

A chill went through him at the memory of the dream. It had been two weeks since Baras had contacted him, and he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since. They had only gotten worse since he had finished the droids' programs. Every time he closed his eyes, he was plagued by his imaginings of the outcome. He had designed the droids to defeat her, but by how wide of a margin? What if, rather than being killed instantly, she was mortally wounded, left to suffer and bleed on the floor, begging him with tears in her eyes, " _Please_ , Malavai, help me"? His own eyes burned with tears at the thought, his chest aching. He could not imagine a worse torment: watching her die a painful death, unable to help her, unwilling to speed her demise by pulling the trigger himself.

 _No_. He rose from the bed silently, grabbing an undershirt on his way out of the room. He had to be sure. He couldn't risk it.

He operated on auto-pilot once he reached the cockpit, his thoughts a blur as he mechanically changed the codes to increase the droids' efficacy. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the dream, he realized with a shudder, the way he worked without thinking, his eyes and his mind dead on the inside as he calculated the best way to guarantee a swift and painless death. He forced himself to continue. He would not let petty sentiment be his downfall. He  _had_ to do this for her. He had no choice.

"Quinn?"

He spun around somewhat guiltily. She had caught him completely by surprise.

"My lord…" The look on her face almost did him in. Her hair was an unkempt mess, her eyes were puffy from sleep, left cheek was a patchwork of pink marks of pillow creases, and any semblance of her Sith ferocity was lost in the floaty, cream-colored material of her nightclothes. She was still beautiful.

He cleared his throat and collected himself. "My lord," he began again, discretely shutting down the droid programs before she could notice them, "standard system checks are all clear. The ship is operating at peak efficiency."

She squinted at him, unconvinced. She approached him and put a hand on his cheek. He didn't fight the temptation to let his eyes slip shut as fingertips roamed over his skin, lingering on his unshaven cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes.

"What about you, Quinn?" she asked. He opened his eyes and saw a hint of a smile. "Are you operating at peak efficiency?"

She knew something was wrong. He had to fight the urge once again to tell her everything, to plead with her for forgiveness that he had ever dared consider turn against her.

"Not exactly," he admitted hesitantly. "There is much I wish to communicate…but…"

She studied him seriously. "But what?"

There it was. His chance. The words threatened to spill out. He could almost feel himself forming the words, warning her…

"I…"

There she was. Staring at him, her green eyes beautiful and oblivious to the conflict raging in his heart. How could he shatter that? How could he break that perfection?

He knew what it was he needed to say.

"I'm falling love with you," he confessed, his voice breaking. "What's more…I think you're falling in love with me. Am I wrong?"

A smile spread across Ishtaa's lips, and Quinn unconsciously mirrored it.

"No," she said quietly. "You're not wrong."

He couldn't hold back. He kissed her passionately, pulling her to his chest and clinging on for dear life. This  _was_  dear life. And he was going to embrace it while he could, to pour out his love with every fiber of his being as an offering so that even as she lay dying, she would remember this. She would remember how he felt and maybe, somehow understand. He could only hope that she would forgive him.


	35. Transponder Station & Fury

Ishtaa shut off her lightsabers, catching her breath from her non-stop rampage through the ship as Quinn opened the door. She had sheathed one of them, and was about to put the other one away when she felt a disturbance in the Force.

The doors closed behind her.

She tensed and held her lightsaber ready as she entered the transponder room. Something was wrong.

She noticed suddenly that Quinn was facing away from her, standing in the center of the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

"My lord…"

A chill went through her veins. Her muscles all went slack, letting her lightsaber fall to the floor with a clatter. She stood there, speechless.

Quinn's voice was surprisingly soft. "I regret that our paths must diverge," he said quietly. "Out of respect I wanted to be here to witness your fate."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Ishtaa said, looking around desperately, searching for a sign—any sign—that this wasn't real. It couldn't be real. But the words kept coming back to her…

_One of your own plots to betray you._

She had assumed that the Voss had been referring to another Imperial, or another Sith. She had brushed it off, the idea never crossing her mind that one of her crew could betray her…that  _he..._

It sank in all at once. This was really happening. Quinn, her love, her only anchor when she was sure she was lost to the darkness, had betrayed her.

"Your senses have always been keen." There was something like fondness in that remark, one more dagger twisting into her heart. He must have felt it too; he turned as if to break himself from the moment and launched into his speech. "It pains me, but this entire scenario…" His voice broke. "…is a ruse." He took a shaky breath. "There's no martial law, and no special signal emitter." He straightened to his full height, steeling himself. "Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."

She shook her head, struggling to keep her face blank. He would not see her break. He would not see her weak. "After all we've been through together? I even helped you take out Moff Broysc."

"You've helped me immensely." Quinn broke eye contact, staring at some point in space past Ishtaa's feet. "I act today with a heavy heart." He raised his eyes. "But without Baras, I'd have no career. I…" Something changed in his voice. "I didn't want to choose between you," he said, pacing away from her agitatedly. "But he's forced my hand, and I  _must_  side with him." His voice abruptly returned to the cold, clinical tone. "Once you're gone, your crew will either join Baras with me, or be killed."

Ishtaa glared at him. "I really thought you were smarter than this."

Quinn spun on his heel. "I'll show you how smart I am," he spat. "After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses." A door opened, and two battle droids crawled into the room. Ishtaa drew her lightsaber reflexively. "These battle droids have been specifically programmed to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure. I'm sorry it's come to this, my lord."

She had no time to think. The droids struck fast and without mercy. But she was equally merciless. The battle was a blur of light and anger, her fury building with every stroke of her lightsaber.

_I fought alongside you._

_I bared my heart to you._

_I shared my bed with you._

_I trusted you._

She let out a cry of anguish, spinning and slashing with inhuman power. She could feel the dark side flowing through her. She felt the blasts and the droids' movements before they happened, until they lay in pieces on the ground.

Something sharp pierced her side. She gasped and pulled away, pressing a hand to the cut. She turned to see the bloody vibroblade fall from Quinn's hand as he backed away, a strange, contorted expression on his face.

Rage blinded her.

She was only distantly aware of her free hand stretching out and slamming Quinn against the far wall. The hate pounding in her temples left no room for sensation—just the darkest threads of the Force flowing through her veins and binding around Quinn's throat.

In all the stories and lessons on Korriban, she had always heard hate spoken of as something hot like fire and flame. The stories were wrong. Hate made her cold.

Quinn let out a weak gurgling sound. She could feel him slipping away. She squeezed tighter.

Suddenly, there was a bright light in the corner, as if a distant star had burst into life in the middle of the transponder station.

"Ishtaa."

It was the voice from the cave, the voice that had been echoing in her mind ever since.

The star's light broke through Ishtaa's rage. She turned without thinking to look at the star. It almost blinded her, even as she squinted through her eyelashes. But as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she could see a form breaking through the piercing light: a woman, all in white, who resembled Ishtaa in every way except that her form was made up entirely of the shimmering starlight.

Ishtaa's grip slackened ever so slightly as she approached the light.

"Who are you?" she shouted.

The ghostly woman did not answer. Ishtaa noticed then that the woman looked sad, her dark eyes shining with tears.

"Ishtaa…please." It was an order, but there was no harshness, no anger. The woman's voice was gentle, without any sharp edges. The only break in her perfect serenity was the sadness that ran through her voice like a current.

Something in the voice shook her. Ishtaa's fury evaporated and she relinquished her grip on Quinn's neck. She surprised herself with the action. She turned to stare at Quinn crumpling to the ground in astonishment, but turned back almost immediately as the light began to fade.

"No!" She raced towards the light, reaching out. "Wait, stop!" she cried.

It was too late. The light vanished, and as soon as it had started, the woman was gone without a trace.

Ishtaa stood there staring at where the light had been for several seconds, the image of the woman still burned into her eyes. She knew it was useless; the woman—the vision—was gone. But she kept staring with futile hope until she heard a faint cough from behind her.

Quinn was coming to.

Slowly, painfully, he raised himself from the ground with one arm, coughing and gasping for breath as he did. He got to his feet with difficulty.

"My lord," he began.

Ishtaa cut him off. The light had taken the edge off her cold hate, but the anger and confusion was slowly returning.

"Silence," she said.

Quinn immediately stopped speaking.

"Return to the ship," she said brusquely, "and await further orders. You may rejoin the crew, but you are no longer welcome in my quarters."

"My actions have cost me dearly then."

Another twist of the knife. She gave no indication that she had heard the remark. "Inform Vette when you reach the ship that she is in charge while I am gone. I suggest you move your things to the cargo bay. Dismissed."

"My lord—"

"You are  _dismissed_ , Captain."

* * *

Vette was in the midst of writing slice code when she heard the 'ping' of the ship's security protocol. She only glanced at the screen briefly to read the ID before buzzing open the airlock.

She heard the door open as she resumed programming. "Hey, Stuffypants," she said loudly. It took her a few seconds to realize that Quinn wasn't replying. She turned to make a face at him and promptly did a double take. " _Quinn_! What the—" She shut off the computer, hurrying to him. "What the hell happened to you?" She glanced around. "Where's Ishtaa?"

Quinn answered in a hoarse, quiet voice, without looking up. He appeared to be speaking with great difficulty. "Lord Ishtaa will not be returning to the ship. She has left you in charge of the ship in her absence."

"'Not returning to the ship?'" Vette repeated. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? And why am I in charge instead of you? What's going on?"

"I am…unfit for duty." He closed his eyes to collect himself. When he recovered, Vette could swear his eyes were shining. "I will be in the cargo hold if you require anything," he choked out in a thick voice before attempting to hurry down the hall.

Vette blocked his path. "Wait a second," she snapped, jamming a finger into his chest for emphasis. "Pull yourself together. You stop this, right now, and tell me what happened. Where's Ishtaa?" Her voice took on a note of desperation. "Is she okay?"

"Vette, please…" He broke away, craning so she wouldn't see his face.

"What's that on your neck?" she asked suddenly.

He froze. He swallowed, the movement only drawing more attention to the exposed column of his throat. Before he could stop her, she had reached out, and drew back his collar to reveal a small purple handprint that was darkening by the minute.

He watched in silence as her eyes flitted from his throat to his face to the lightsaber singes on his uniform. Her expression darkened; she had done the math.

_One of your own plots to betray you._

"Quinn," she said, her voice shaking, "tell me I'm wrong. Tell me it isn't you…"

He stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

Her lips quivered. "You son of a bitch," she hissed, her voice rising from a whisper into a shrill yell. She shoved him. "It was  _you_! After everything she gave you. After all you went through together…"

The words struck a chord in Quinn's memory and he cringed. "Vette, please…"

"How  _dare_  you?! She loved you! She—" Vette broke off, too angry to speak. She pulled back a fist as if to hit him—but then lowered it slowly. She glared at his boots furiously. After a long pause, she spoke. "I can't believe I actually  _encouraged_  her when she talked about spending the rest of her life with you." She looked up at him. "I guess I didn't realize you were planning to speed up the process." She turned away from him, crossing her arms. "Get out of here."

"I'm so—"

" _Get. Out._ "

Quinn hesitated in the doorway for a moment before realizing it was useless. His shoulders slumped in resignation, he turned to leave…

…and walked straight into Lieutenant Pierce.

The lieutenant glanced back and forth between Vette and the captain. "What's goin' on here?" he asked suspiciously.

Vette sighed and composed herself with obvious difficulty. "It's nothing, Pierce. Just…go back to your weapons repairs."

Pierce's expression darkened into a scowl. "Like hell." In one swift movement, he grabbed Quinn by the collar and slammed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of the much-smaller captain. "You think I'm daft?" he sneered; Quinn recoiled from the hot breath on his face. "I knew what was wrong the minute I got word from Ishtaa to move your shit to the cargo hold. You stabbed her in the back, just like that Voss said you would." He lowered his voice to a growl. "Lucky I'm here to set things right." With that, he tossed Quinn to the ground, making the floor grates rattle all along the corridor. The captain rolled over, groaning, but he had no time to recover before Pierce launched a kick into his stomach.

Vette stepped forward. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Out of my way, you bird, I'm gonna give this bastard what's coming to him."

"You can't do that," she snapped. "It's not your job to decide who lives and dies." She scowled at Quinn, who had doubled in pain on the floor. "Let's just lock him in the cargo hold and get back to work."

"I'm not taking any chances." He reached for his blaster. Vette grabbed his wrist. He narrowed his eyes. "Let go of my arm," he said.

"So you can shoot him?"

"You know what he did. He's working for Baras. I don't give a rat's arse what Ishtaa says, I'm not letting this little prick live so he can kill us all in our sleep." He went for the blaster again, but Vette was still holding onto his wrist. "Let go, or I'll break your arm."

"Do it. Have fun explaining it to Ishtaa. And while you're at it, why you decided it was your job to kill a prisoner  _she_ decided to let live."

Pierce tensed, thinking hard. Finally, and with reluctance, he put the blaster back in its holster.

"Fine. I'm not going to shoot him." He cracked his neck and fingers. "Can't take the blame if he dies from his injuries."

"Pierce, don't!"

Her struggles were no use. Pierce easily broke through her grasp, and surging forward, he picked Quinn up by the collar and knocked him against the wall. Without mercy, he threw punch after punch—to the jaw, to the chest, to the ribcage, to the stomach…

Vette let out a scream after she heard the definitive  _crunch_ of Quinn's nose breaking. " _Pierce!_ " She ran forward, tugging on Pierce's enormous biceps. "Pierce, that's enough! He's had enough!"

"He's had enough when  _I_ say it's enough." He threw Quinn once more to the ground.

Broonmark came into the hallway.  _"What's going on?"_

"Giving the traitor what's coming to him! There's going to be blood on this ship tonight!"

The Talz gave a warlike warble and bounded towards the skirmish.

Vette threw herself in his path, trying in vain to block his way. "Stop it, both of you! You can't do this!" Broonmark broke past her. Vette's voice broke in desperation. "Please!"

A voice rang out over the madness, physically shocking everyone into submission. " _STOP IT!"_

It was Jaesa. She glanced around, surveying the scene. "Pierce and Broonmark," she said, "you will return to your quarters."

"But Quinn—"

"Return to your quarters."

Pierce looked like he was ready to continue fighting, his hands curling into tight fists. But then his eyes fell on the lightsaber on Jaesa's belt: a reminder of what she was capable of.

He grumbled under his breath. "Come on, Broon." Jaesa watched silently with arched brow as the two thudded out of the hall and into their room. She turned to Vette once she heard the door hiss shut.

"Vette, I believe Ishtaa left you in charge. Set a course for a safe location to await her return."

Vette's brow furrowed. "Will she be able to find us on her own?"

Jaesa heard the unasked question. "She's alright. Just find us a safe place and chart the course. 2V can help copilot."

Vette sighed, but nodded. She gave Quinn one last look of disgust before heading towards the cockpit.

When everyone had left, Jaesa's face lost all its severity, replaced by a look of deep concern. She hunched down to examine Quinn's face. "Are you alright?" she asked, helping him to his feet.

He pulled away from her. "Don't touch me," he said, limping to the cargo hold.

Jaesa pursued him. "Hold on. Just come to the med bay for a minute and I can help heal you…"

"That won't be necessary."

"But you're injured."

"I can heal myself."

"Quinn…" There was something in the way she said it that made him stop. Perhaps it was some Force trick, but he couldn't stop himself from turning to look at her. There were tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly.

Pain ripped through Quinn's chest—from his injuries or from her words, he could not tell. It did not matter. He had to get to the cargo bay, alone. He deserved to be alone.


	36. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE AND SUICIDAL IDEATION. If you have ANY problems in that regard and know triggers are an issue, PLEASE PLEASE do not read this chapter. If you're worried about following the plot, send me a message and I will summarize what happened.

Quinn shivered.  _Cold._ Instinctively, he reached out across the bed to find warmth.

His hands met thin air and cold metal. He opened his eyes slowly.

It took him a moment to remember where he was from his sideways position, but the truth slowly dawned on him and settled into a pit in his stomach. He was never going to be able to reach out in the middle of the night and find Ishtaa again. And if he somehow could, she would never respond to his touch the way she once had—her instinct to draw closer to him had become the instinct to recoil with a shudder. He sat up feeling sick.

_How could I? How?_

He stood up agitatedly, thinking hard. It had been the only way. He could do it himself, quickly, painlessly, or let the Sith drag out her suffering. He had no choice.

His head was spinning. Everything had made so much sense when he had made the decision…hadn't it? He had made the right choice. The rational choice.

But Ishtaa had beaten his droids—more than beat them. She obliterated them with ease. A factor he failed to calculate. He had been so precise…programmed them to respond to her every move, to process patterns in her behavior…he had even set it up for recognition of her favored attacks: opening leap, spiraling blades, deadly kick. But she had exceeded everything that he had planned for. Somehow, even after two years of studying her and learning every intimate thing there was to know about her, she had managed to surprise him. Could she have surprised Baras?

Suddenly, the haze cleared, and all the confusing notions sorted themselves out and parted to make way for one realization: he didn't care. If she could beat Baras, if she would be forced to run from him for the rest of her life…what did it matter? However long it lasted, he wanted to be there. To drink in whatever burning bright quality it was that drew him to her, which won enemies to her cause and struck fear into the hearts of those who refused, that allowed her to overcome his trap. He wanted  _her_. He loved her.

And he had thrown all of it away. He had been faithless, cruel, cowardly, traitorous, unworthy…

His heart sank. He was unworthy. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve to be anywhere near her. Even if he could bear to bring himself into her presence and look her in the eye weeping, she would want nothing to do with him. She would never trust him again, by  _his_ doing. She had let him in.  _Him_ : an undeserving, lowly, worthless failure of an officer who hid behind regulations, compared to her beauty, strength, wit, and that strange certainty she had that made regulations pale in comparison. And he had thrown all of it away. Foolish, worthless, hideous, disgusting, damnable…

His realization had one path. The more he thought about it, the more he realized its inevitability. There was only one way to end this torment. There was only one thing he could do to set things right, to have the basic decency to give Ishtaa justice.

But how would he do it?

He suppressed a tremor of fear. He needed to stay clinical. What were his options?

Hanging. No. Plenty of places to tie; he could probably find a suitable cord or cable. But the ceilings weren't high enough, and there was too much risk of something going wrong. If he didn't die on the drop, someone could find him. And he would need light to gather the materials…no, there was too much risk of being stopped.

Bleeding. He ruled it out almost immediately. If his cut was precise, he would probably be dead in under ten minutes, but there was the mess to consider. He knew no one on the ship would care, but somehow…somehow he still did. When he imagined himself dead, he didn't see blood pooled everywhere. Even in death, even though he knew she wouldn't care, he couldn't let her see him like that.

In which case he could rule out toxins. He could concoct something in short order, given access to the med bay, but it would leave him foaming, vomiting, twitching and seizing in his last minutes.

A lightsaber would be clean, but the days of Ishtaa sleeping peacefully by his side, her face unperturbed by distrust or fear…It wasn't going to happen. The moment he got anywhere near her weapons, she would awake.

Which left him only one option: blaster. Quick. Clean. Painless, he hoped, but then he cursed himself for the thought. He deserved any pain he brought upon himself tenfold. This was his doing, and he was going to end it.

Ignoring the shaking of his hands, he slipped out of the cargo bay and headed towards the weapons locker.

He struggled with the locker. His fingers were refusing to cooperate. He glanced over his shoulder; if the clatter of his clumsy movements didn't give him away, he felt sure that someone would hear his heart pounding. Luck was on his side. There was no one there.

He finally succeeded in opening the locker, and took his blaster. He stared down at his palm for a moment, feeling the weapon's balance. He remembered with a pang that Ishtaa had gotten it for him only a few weeks prior, when she had noticed that a bolt in his old blaster was getting in the way of quick-draws.

Just one more undeserved gift to be repaid.

He crept back down the hallway in silence, holding the blaster to his chest. His heart gave an unpleasant lurch when he re-entered the cargo bay. Being clinical was easy enough, but it was something else to be staring his demise in the face.

He swallowed, tried to concentrate on the clinical.

A properly-placed blast to his brain should do the job almost instantaneously, but a misplaced one could leave him alive, crippled and bleeding out in agony. Messy.

He closed his eyes and raised the blaster, searching about on his temple until he found the right spot…

"Don't."

A soft voice from the doorway. He didn't lower the blaster as he turned around to look.

Jaesa was standing there in her night robes, a heartbreaking expression in her wide brown eyes.

"Please," she said quietly. "Don't do this."

He tried to retort, but found that his voice had died. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Why?" he said finally.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

He looked up at her balefully. "I betrayed her. Stabbed her in the back. My duty was to protect her. Instead I tried to kill her." He took a shaky breath. "It's too late for me," he said. "All I can do now is make sure she gets justice."

"But justice has been served. She let you live."

"I—yes. She did." He paused. "Why? I deserved to die— _still_ deserve to die."

"You were disarmed. There was no reason to kill you."

Quinn cast about the room, pacing. "But she could have!"

"And she didn't."

A thought dawned on him, and for a brief second, hope flickered in his chest. He turned to Jaesa, his brow furrowed. "Do you think…could she still love me?" he asked. He felt like a child asking.

"Trust is difficult to rebuild. And sometimes there are wounds too deep to be healed."

Quinn despaired. So he was lost.

"But it doesn't matter."

He closed his eyes, his shoulders and back clenched. "How could it not matter? I have nothing left worth living for."

"You have light."

Quinn had no idea what she meant by that, but his shoulders relaxed at her words as if she had injected him with a drug. He didn't answer. Jaesa continued.

"Do you still love her?"

He hesitated. His professional instinct stifled him from speaking. But he had nothing left to lose. "More than anything."

"Then live," Jaesa pleaded. "Keep fighting. Keep protecting her, and healing her, and doing everything you can to help her. Be strong for her. Because what she's fighting for, and what she's up against, she is going to need every ounce of strength she can get."

Quinn stared at her. He stared at the weapon in his hands.

"Give me the blaster, Quinn. Please."

He stared at it a moment longer, then slowly, reluctantly, handed it to her. He felt like a pressure had been untied from around his ribcage. He wasn't healed, but he could breathe, and beneath the ashes there was a spark of hope.


	37. Tatooine

Ishtaa looked out across the desert through a scanner.

No signs of life, at least none in her way.  _Good_. She didn't have the patience to fight her way through Sand People or packs of wild beasts. She had waited long enough on the journey. Whatever merciful tendencies remained in her, that scrap of weakness that stayed her hand when Quinn was on his knees, they died  _now_. Baras would not be afforded the same clemency.

Hardening her gaze, she slung a leg over her speeder and set off across the moonlit dunes towards the canyons.

* * *

The cavern was unexpectedly bright, the oasis reflecting silvery moonlight in pale ripples all along the walls.

Ishtaa stormed to the oasis' shore, igniting her lightsabers.

"Alright, come out!" she snarled. "I know you can!"

The only answer was the sound of her own voice, bounding off the walls in a mocking refrain. She kicked the pool. The splash echoed in the cavern, magnified by the silence.

"I conquered the dark reflection!" she shouted. "I know there is light! Come out so I may destroy you too! Let me end this weakness poisoning me! Come out! Let me see you!"

The pool finally responded. Ishtaa steeled her gaze, holding her lightsabers at the ready as a woman's figure clothed in light rose from the water.  _No more. No more weakness._  She raised the blades high, poised to strike. But then the woman in light raised her eyes—dark eyes.

Ishtaa's fury evaporated. "Mother," she said quietly.

"Ishtaa."

And at that, she remembered why she had come, her anger returning in one hot surge. "Why?" she demanded. "Why do you do this? Why do you keep appearing to me if only to say my name? What do you hope to achieve?" She turned away, anger turning to tears—humiliating and weak. "Why do you torment me with ghosts? Leave me."

"Look at me."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Then slowly she turned to face her mother.

Her expression was stern. "Do not turn your back on what you should hold most dear."

"I  _do_ hold this most dear," Ishtaa spat. "Twenty-three years I've been seeking to avenge your death. Even now that I know what you were, I still yearn for recompense. Now let the light reflection come, so I can purge this weakness that holds me back. Let me ransom your blood with Baras, and all those who stand with him."

Her mother sighed, sadness apparent in her eyes. "So much fire," she said, "and still so little you understand."

Ishtaa found herself looking at the ground, heart sick with shame though she didn't know why.

"I will go."

"No." Ishtaa snapped her head up, bounding into the water towards her mother. "Stay with me. If there is something I do not know, tell me!"

"You are too far lost for hearing. My words will not be clear. Come back to me, and one day I will tell you everything." Her light began to dwindle.

"Tell me how to get to you! Mother!"

"Come back."

"Mother!"

She reached too far. She stumbled and fell into the water, bogged down by her soaking robes. She sat there for a long time, shaking and angry, until the shaking turned to shivers as the cold water seeped into her bones. She crawled out of the pool with aching limbs and peeled off her outer robe the moment she reached the shore.

She rested her forehead on her knees, hugging her legs to her chest—for warmth, and for comfort. Where did she turn to now?

She was brought out of her thoughts by a rustle across the cave. She raised her head instinctively.

"Who's there? Show yourself."

There was a moment's hesitation, and then a woman—slight, with short, platinum hair—rose from behind the stones.

Ishtaa immediately leapt into action. She had the woman pinned against the rock before she could even begin speaking.

"Wait, Sith, please! I can explain!" She struggled. "My name is—"

"I know who you are, Sharack Breev. Give me one good reason why I should spare Baras' lackey."

"I do not work for Darth Baras any longer," the woman wheezed. "I couldn't…not when I heard what he had done…"

"You'll forgive me if I find that somewhat hard to believe."

"I served your father!" She licked her lips hurriedly. "I was part of your father's crew. When he was Baras' apprentice. I only worked for Baras as part of a deal. I…" She hesitated. "I've been watching you."

Ishtaa scoffed. "You expect me to believe this nonsense? You, serving my father? You can't be more than fifteen years older than me."

"I am older than I look."

Ishtaa narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. "If you seek to earn my trust, why tell me that you worked for my  _father_? I know the truth now. My father was no better a man than Baras."

"What Baras told you was a lie." Sharack sighed. "I understand that you do not know me well. It is my own fault. I have been…distant. My watch has been from afar. Kill me if you must. The Emperor knows, I deserve it for what I have done, who I've worked for. But first let me speak my piece."

Ishtaa pursed her lips, thinking. Then, slowly, she deluminated her lightsabers and sheathed them. "Very well. I will hear you. But I make no promises when you are done. You stood with Baras, and I can't afford loose ends."

"I understand." Sharack gestured to a patch of long, soft grass that grew out of the sand near the shore. "You must be cold from the water. I will make a fire, and then I will tell you everything. You should make yourself comfortable. It is a long story."

* * *

 

It began many years ago. I served the people of the desert. I was a guide in the wilderness, and I offered safe passage to any who asked. Your father was one of them, and the last.

He told me to take him to this oasis. It was there that I learned what he was: a Sith, a servant to Darth Baras by the name of Lord Caius. His master had charged him with finding someone: a young woman, born into slavery on Dromund Kaas before the Jedi rescued her. They had sensed her unusual power, as Baras had, for she was strong in the Force, and had the unprecedented ability to glimpse into the future. Her name was Sehenna…your mother.

Baras has always feared threats to his own power. Your mother was no exception. Caius was tasked with tracking her down and eliminating her, just as you were charged with finding Jaesa Willsaam.

But your stories are not one and the same. When Caius looked into the pool of the oasis, he saw something very different than you did: a reflection of light. It pleaded with him to turn to the light side, to banish the cruelty of the Sith and embrace something greater. He defeated the reflection, but the encounter shook him. I could see it in his eyes. At the very least, it distracted him. After leaving the oasis, we were set upon by Sand People. I saw them before he did, Force-blind though I am, and together we fought them off. He was impressed by my skills in the wilderness. With Baras' permission, he invited me to join his crew. I accepted.

We wasted no time. He set off across the galaxy, searching for this young Jedi whose power Baras feared. But every time we arrived at a place where she was rumored to be, we found that she had left a day beforehand.

Caius became obsessed with finding Sehenna, more than Baras. But his obsession was different. He wasn't interested in power. It was her. Everywhere we went, we heard stories of the beautiful Jedi who could fill the room with her strength. She left an impression on every planet she left. As time went on, Caius came to know more and more about this Jedi, full of contradictions. She was powerful, but gentle. She made kings cower, yet was humble. He started clinging to the stories we heard, desperate to learn anything he could about her.

It was over a year before we caught up to her, and even then, it was a lucky break—at least for us. Sehenna knew we were coming, and had made arrangements to leave, but there was an accident that she had not foreseen. A processing plant had exploded, flooding an entire village. Instead of fleeing, she remained to save as many people as she could. When we found her, she was waist-high in dirty water, carrying a crippled old man to higher ground.

Something changed in your father that day. When he finally met her, he realized that he couldn't kill her. Somehow, seeing all that she had done, and what she stood for, he had fallen in love with her. Instead of capturing her and bringing her to Baras, Caius joined her in rescuing the villagers. When they had finished, he told Sehenna to flee before any more Imperials could arrive. She didn't question his generosity, nor did she confront him for being a Sith. She simply thanked him and left.

Baras wasn't happy when he found out that Sehenna had escaped. The only saving grace was that he didn't know what Caius had done. He assumed that your father had simply  _lost_ the Jedi, not let her go. Nevertheless, he decided that he had let Caius' pursuit going on too long, and took over the investigation himself.

Sehenna was very clever. Were it anyone but Baras chasing her, she might have gone completely unnoticed. She chose to hide in the last place any Sith would go looking for a Jedi: back on Dromund Kaas, among the slaves where she had been born. She worked just like everyone else. She didn't use her power in the Force to ease her labor, because she knew that it might give her away…Baras had connections, including a handful of slaves bribed into betraying their own people.

She was careful, but her luck did not hold out forever. And so the day came that luck came to Baras' side. In those days, the Colossus was a newly begun project, and they had just begun the laying of stones on top of the foundation. But the scaffolds were built too quickly. One day, a scaffold support snapped, and a slave who was helping to lift a large stone fell. The fall was short, and he was unharmed. But without that slave helping to lift the stone, the others could not do it, and the enormous boulder began to fall towards the earth where several men were standing.

Sehenna was near enough that she saw the scaffold snap and ran towards the shouts to help. When she saw the stone falling, there was no hesitation. Drawing on every ounce of strength in the Force she had, she reached out to stop the boulder. It slowed until finally it hovered overhead, a stone the breadth of three large men.

The slaves were amazed and grateful, but Sehenna told them all to keep quiet. All the slaves agreed, as was their way—a people united in hardship. She came to trust them, and as time went on, she became more and more comfortable using her powers to help them, so long as the overseers did not notice. By night, she regaled them with stories of her adventures, and comforted them with promises of light on the horizon…and though the visions were hers alone, the others came to find hope in them as well.

But one of the slaves in Baras' keep bore no part in the community. He slipped away in the dead of night and told Baras what he had seen. Baras assembled the finest troops at once and, summoning Caius, made plans to leave at dawn.

Sehenna was woken before daybreak by a dream, her glimpses of the future bursting forth. She knew there was no time to escape, but her dream reassured her that all would be well.

She would have left the slave camp unseen if not for a baby. One of the slaves, a man almost killed by the boulder, was awake to comfort his newborn son and allow his wife some sleep. He saw that she was clothed for a journey, and he begged her to stay.

"You are our hope. We will die without you."

Sehenna replied, "No. You will die if I remain. A terrible Sith is coming, a man named Darth Baras, and he will destroy anyone who stands by my side."

The man stood his ground. "I will gather some of the men. If this Sith is so terrible, then we would do well to fight him, no matter what the cost."

"Your offer is noble, but unneeded. I have seen what will come to pass. Darth Baras will one day fall. Not by my hand, but by the hand of another. One born of Sith and Jedi."

The man was astonished, and pressed for more answers, but Sehenna would answer no more. The time was upon her and Baras would be coming.

She went out beyond the entrance to the slave camp, in the open so Baras would see her and no others would come to harm.

When Baras arrived, he ordered his guards at once to seize Sehenna and restrain her. Then he stepped forth to deal the killing blow.

But Caius stayed his hand.

"My lord," he pleaded. "To spill such power in blood is a waste, as it is a waste in beauty. Grant me the Jedi, to secure my line and ensure my legacy. She looks to be good sport and is of childbearing age."

Baras heard his request, and considered at great length. Finally, he assented. "Very well," he said. "You shall have your descendants and dispose of her when she is done."

He had a slave collar placed on her, and handed the Jedi to my charge. "Take her and see she is fit for your master," he commanded, "and shock out of her any notion of rebellion. I would have a word with my apprentice." At my master's nod I left, and escorted Sehenna back to the ship. She offered no resistance, nor spoke as I helped her wash and dress in what robes I could find.

Caius was angry when he returned and saw that Sehenna still had the shock collar. He kept apologizing to her while he tried to remove it. I never saw him so uncomfortable. Over a year we'd been through battles and Sith politics, and not once did I see his calm waver. But Sehenna was different.

I sensed that my presence might be making matters worse and left them alone to talk. They spoke for some time. I never found out what they talked about. But when Caius returned to the cockpit, there was something like shame in his eyes.

He was never the same after that. Every day, his actions became more measured. Instead of killing and diving blindly into battle, he started negotiating, capturing enemies instead of executing them. And every night, he would stop by Sehenna's quarters and talk for hours.

I cannot say when their relationship changed from one of companionship to love. All I know is that a little over a year later, Caius pulled me aside to talk in private. He wished to marry Sehenna.

It was done in secret. I was a witness, and I arranged to have a droid brought onboard. I erased the droid's memory when the ceremony was finished. We dumped it at a droid repair shop on Nar Shaddaa. It should have been a secret. No one should ever have found out.

Until one day, your mother greeted Caius' return to the ship with overwhelming news: she was carrying a child.

Caius was overjoyed. Together, they could build a family, and train their children in the ways of the Force—not restricted like the Jedi, but full and loving; all the ferocity of the Sith, but none of their cruelty.

But their future was not to be. Baras had begun hearing reports from his spy in the slave camp of a prophecy that one day a child born of Sith and Jedi would bring about his downfall. Out of fear, he ordered that all such children be killed, along with any captured Jedi.

When Caius heard the order, he commanded me to take Sehenna into hiding while he went to speak with Baras. He did not need his wife's visions to tell him it would be the last time he ever saw her. He kissed her belly—by that point enormous—and then her forehead. Then he said words that I never thought I would hear a Sith say: "May the Force be with you."

He perished in his fight against Darth Baras, or so I assume. No word ever left Dromund Kaas. But I knew your father. His skills with a lightsaber were unmatched, and his courage even more so. He would have gone down fighting to his last breath.

I took your mother into the deserts here, on Tatooine, to the safe places I once found as a guide. It was dangerous, hard traveling, and it only got worse as her pregnancy went on. The heat was unbearable. I know it weakened your mother, but she insisted that we keep pressing on. She knew that we would need to be as far from civilization as possible if we were ever to hide from Baras.

But even Jedi have a breaking point. On the third day of travel, she became very ill. She pleaded with me to let her continue, but I couldn't do it. I set up a simple camp there. I thought that if we went any further, I would lose her—and you. She was too weak to fight me by then.

She lay sick in bed for an entire week, delirious with fever. She cried out constantly, plagued by nightmares of your father's death. They only got worse when she went into labor.

But when you were finally born, a peace came over her. She kept saying that she could see the stars. I don't know if she was being poetic or delirious. But it was for the stars that she named you "Ishtaa."

She slept like a stone through the days that followed, only waking to feed you and drink the broth I gave her. But the peace was broken at sunset when she awoke in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright in her be, and told me calmly that Baras was coming.

I tried to get her to come with me and flee, but I could not move her. It was like she was weighed to the bed with a boulder. She just lay there, holding you and looking into your eyes. Finally, after a long time, she smiled and looked up at the sky through a hole in the tent, moved to tears by the stars. Her eyes were still shining when she died.

I took you from her as soon as she died and began preparations to leave. There was no time to bury her, but I couldn't just leave her for Baras to desecrate. So I gathered my belongings, said a prayer for the dead, and cremated the tent. I watched to make sure that the flames would take, and then fled with you towards town.

But I was too late. Baras was already on my trail. I avoided him for as long as I could, but he had laid a trap. When I entered the spaceport to secure passage on a cargo ship, he was there waiting with Imperial troops.

I threw myself at his mercy, and begged him not to kill you. I tempted him with promises of your power. I told him that your father's skill with a lightsaber, combined with your mother's mastery of the Force, would make you a most powerful weapon for his arsenal.

Baras has always had a weakness for power. He would do almost anything to gain an advantage over his enemies…but he was wary of the prophecy your mother had made. That was when I made the deal.

I swore that I would serve him faithfully, and told him that he could keep you, have you raised among the Sith. I was the one suggested the lie about your parents. I convinced him that if you could be trained to despise the Jedi, your desire for revenge would overpower any temptation to betray your master. He was persuaded.

He ordered his men to take you to Korriban, and place you in the keep of the finest teachers. He could not train you himself—such a thing would be unheard of, and draw attention to his plans. He arranged it so that you would appear to be nothing but an ordinary acolyte…but all the while, he would be watching you, until the time was right.

* * *

 

Sharack Breev fell silent then, and stared into the dying embers.

Ishtaa remained quiet for several minutes. It was too much to take in. Somehow, none of it felt real…there was none of the visceral shock that had come with Baras' revelation.

"The tent," she said finally. "Where you cremated my mother. Is it still there?"

"What the sand has not blown away, yes. It is not far from here. I have gone there to meditate on several occasions."

"Show me."

She hesitated, and then nodded. "As you wish."

* * *

 

The stars had faded when the two women left the cave, the lavender-gray sky casting a dim and pearly light over the desert. They set out on foot with their cloaks pulled tight.

"There," said Sharack, after they had walked for almost half an hour. She pointed at a small cluster of rocks and hills up ahead. "Go and see for yourself."

Ishtaa climbed slowly, looking around and taking in everything—desperate not to overlook anything. Then her eyes fell upon the remains of the tent, and she knew that she didn't need to look any further.

There was barely anything left…not surprising, after more than 20 years in the desert, weathered wind and constant sandstorms. What still stood was nothing more than a wooden frame, blackened by the fire and softened from the sands. Ishtaa reached out to touch one of the posts. It was as smooth as driftwood.

She swallowed a lump in her throat that she hadn't noticed forming. She could not feel any tears pricking at her eyes, only a heavy sense of loss in the pit of her stomach. After so many years, she finally— _finally —_ knew the truth. But what good did it do, so long after the fact? She realized now, as she felt the remains of the tent, how foolish her desire for revenge had been. The years had already worn the edges from her mother's tomb. No amount of bloodshed, no matter how deserved, could bring back the unburned tent, or her mother.

Her knees gave out and she slumped against the tent post. Surprisingly, it held her weight.  _Still so strong after so many years_. In spite of the time past, the storms that had come and gone and worn away every imperfection in the wood, the tent was still standing.

_And so am I._

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Sharack Breev had come up behind her.

"There is something that I should have given you when we first met," she said. "But I was frightened. I couldn't…" Ishtaa watched curiously as the woman reached into her pack and pulled out a small package, bound with cloth and twine.

Ishtaa opened it. "Her lightsaber," she said quietly.

"I know she would have wanted you to have it." Sharack reached out and pressed her hands over Ishtaa's, forcing her palms to close over the lightsaber's hilt. "Use it as she did." She relinquished her hold. With a small bow, she began to descend the hill.

Ishtaa remained a moment longer, studying the weapon in her hands.  _Use it as she did_. As she thought it, a sense of warmth washed over her like hot water pouring over her head.

"I will come back to you," she said.

The weight lifted from her chest, she clipped the lightsaber to her belt, and began to follow Sharack Breev down the hill. But before she did, she hesitated. She stood atop the hill where her mother had died and looked across the dunes one more time, feeling the warmth of the twin suns' rising.


	38. Corellia

Quinn sat up and stretched with a yawn. It dawned on him as he rubbed his burning eyes that he had no idea how long he had been sitting perfectly still in the cockpit, looking over datapads, running simulations, and sending the results to a half-dozen commanders.

He allowed himself to sit back in the chair and let his head flop back for a moment. Just a few weeks ago, that would have been Ishtaa's cue to order him on a break. Or else she would appear out of nowhere and run her fingers through his hair, mussing it up. He would pretend to be annoyed about it, but it was actually very soothing. He'd never realized how much tension he carried in his face.

That was before. Quinn snapped out of his daydreaming with a pang of shame. Pathetic. It was his own fault he had lost her affection and trust—and he would have lost her if not for his overconfidence. He deserved any hardship or discomfort that came his way. The least he could do was endure it, fight through it, and do everything in his power to protect her and make sure that no one succeeded where his plan had failed.

The entire ship shuddered with a dull, metallic sound. Quinn ducked down to catch the stack of datapads before they fell to the floor.

Vette poked her head into the cockpit.

"Did you do something?" she asked.

He shook his head, restacking the datapads. "I thought it was you. It sounded like it came from one of the engines."

This time the noise was louder. Vette staggered and braced herself against the doorframe. She squeezed into the cockpit to look at the engine readouts, scanning for problems and finding nothing. She frowned.

"What the—?"

Overhead, a large fist covered in metal broke through the glass.

Vette screamed and fell back. The shock wore off quickly: she pulled out her blaster and began firing at the disembodied fist. The blasts ricocheted off the glove without seeming to cause any damage. Before Vette could get closer for a point blank shot, the arm disappeared and the cockpit shook as a figure cloaked in black leapt off the blast-shield.

Pierce ran in with a clatter. "Everyone alright?"

"They're after Vowrawn. We've got to get him out of here."

Vette tried to push past him. Pierce stood his ground. "What, and let the assassin get away? You can get the old man, I'll take this bastard head-on."

"Negative." Quinn finished buckling a holster onto his belt. "That's what they're expecting. You'd never survive. Go with Vette and Broonmark. Try to slip past with Vowrawn. Get him to a safe house."

Vette crossed her arms. "What about you?"

"I can keep the assassin busy while the four of you flee." He gave both of them a serious look. "Get going."

"Wait a minute, you're going to face the assassin by yourself? Are you crazy?"

"It's the best chance we've got."

Pierce dragged Vette by the arm out of the cockpit. "Come on. There's a hatch beneath the crew quarters. It's tight, but we should get out unnoticed."

Vette gave Quinn one last worried look, then turned and let Pierce lead her to the crew quarters where Broonmark and Vowrawn were waiting.

Quinn gave them a few seconds headstart before heading to the airlock.

He made his way down the ramp slowly, fingers hovering at the ready over his blaster. The spaceport seemed quiet, no doubt to lure him into a false sense of security.

Several seconds, and there was still no sign of the assassin. Quinn reached the bottom of the ramp. He drew his blaster cautiously and held it at the ready, turning about slowly so he could take in every inch of the spaceport, looking for anything out of place. He had just about turned full circle when he felt a presence behind him.

He whirled around.

It was a Sith, tall and broad-shouldered with cruel features that twisted into a mocking smile. "Watch your back," he said smoothly.

Quinn fired point-blank into the Sith's face. The man deflected the blasts with a swipe of his arm. He followed through the swing in a full circle, bringing his metal arm about to strike Quinn in the face. The movement was too quick for Quinn to react.

Pain exploded in his cheek and jaw. He staggered back with a gasp. Focus. Fight. His brow settled into a scowl. He straightened and raised his blaster for another shot, when the Sith made contact with his stomach. He doubled over, crying out reflexively. Dazed and winded, he offered no resistance as the Sith knocked the blaster from his hands.

Unarmed. In a surge of fury and adrenaline, Quinn managed to raise his chin, drawing his arm back to throw a desperate punch. The Sith put his hand out. Quinn found himself being thrown like a rag doll across the spaceport. He slammed into the Fury before crumpling to the floor. He could already feel blood trickling down his arms and face where the exterior of the ship had torn into his skin.

With a great effort, he tried to get up, but found that he couldn't. He fell back to the floor with a pained grunt, fire racing along his leg. Multiple fractures. Likely severe.

Quinn watched as the Sith's black boots slowly approached him, each footstep echoing through the empty room.

"Oh, I see now. You must be the famous Captain Quinn. How embarrassing. First, Druckenwell, now this…you couldn't even kill the Voice's failed apprentice!" The Sith crouched down alongside Quinn, rolling him over so he was looking directly into the man's smirking face. "It wasn't as if you had to go through all this." He gestured at the room around him. "She was head over heels with you. All you had to do was bring a knife into her bed, and kill her in her sleep." His face darkened. "But you, weakling, couldn't do it." His lips twisted into an ironic smile. "You know, I'm glad you didn't kill her. Sure, she's a thorn in Baras's side, but to waste all that power…" He rose to his feet. "Don't worry. I'm not as shortsighted as Baras. Once I find her, I'll personally see to it that she's well-cared for. I wouldn't want any defects to mar my legacy. Though I might have to break her in at first."

The Sith turned to leave. Quinn lunged out with a roar. Unable to stand up on his broken leg, he threw himself sideways to wrap his arms around the Sith's ankles.

It was a useless attempt. The Sith broke free easily, knocking Quinn back with a kick to the head.

The Sith laughed. "Worm," he said. "What were you trying to do? Protect her 'honor?' You must be the most desperate, pathetic Imperial I've ever met."

"No argument there."

The Sith looked around at the new, gruff voice, but too late. A rocket fired across the room and found its mark squarely in the middle of the Sith's chest, sending him sliding across the floor until he hit a cargo cart, where he tumbled head over heels, bringing the cart with him.

Quinn raised his head blearily. Seizing the window of opportunity, he used his last ounce of strength to pull the pin on a carbonite grenade and hurl it across the room.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The grenade bounced across the room and rolled around on the floor for a few seconds until…

It went off. Quinn heard the telltale sound of flesh and metal freezing rapidly.

Pain now shooting through every inch of his body, he let himself go limp on the cold floor. He was not long resting before a boot poked into his stomach, sending new spasms in a wave along his abdomen.

"C'mon, you lump. That grenade's not going to last long on a Sith."

Quinn opened his eyes a fraction to see Pierce, hovering over him with his usual ugly scowl. "You saved my life," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"Don't mention it." Quinn opened his mouth to thank him, but Pierce put up a hand to silence him. "I mean it. If I find out you've told anyone, I'll personally rip those stupid moles off your face."

"Obliged." Quinn tried to stand once again, hissing in pain.

"Oh, for pity's sake…" Pierce scooped Quinn up and tossed him unceremoniously over his shoulder. He didn't comment on the captain's pained protests, except to hand him a kolto injector. "Here. Stab yourself with this thing. Don't want you whining all the way to the rendezvous point."

Quinn gratefully took the kolto. With shaking hands, he found the vein in his elbow and injected it. The solution took effect almost immediately. As blessed relief spread throughout his body, he felt the throb of his headache soften into something like a gentle pressure that weighed his eyelids down and dragged him into sleep.

* * *

Ishtaa had been shaking since she received Pierce's holo. She had hurried to the safe house at break-neck speed, terrified that any second she wasted might mean life or death for one of her crew.

By the time she arrived, she was imagining the worst. Pierce was fine, and Vowrawn had obviously survived, but she had no word on the condition of the others. Visions of horrifying injuries—or worse—played through her head in a loop.

She slammed the doors open on her way into the room. Vowrawn looked up at the noise…and beamed.

"Ah," he cried cheerily, "you've made it! This is heating up, isn't it?"

Ishtaa stared at him, flabbergasted. Vowrawn either didn't notice her surprise, or didn't care, because he continued in his normal tone of voice, as if he were relating a particularly dramatic story at a garden party.

"Baras as taken off the sparring gloves. This assassin was the most lethal to date. The Pugilist, they call him. I must say, his reputation is well-earned."

Ishtaa closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. "I should have been there," she said bitterly.

"No need to fret, my dear," said Vowrawn with a wave of his hand. "I was in good hands. There was no panic, no confusion. To a man, your people stared into the face of death and did not flinch."

Ishtaa paled. "Death? What are you—?"

There was a soft "clunk" approaching through the doors, still flung wide open. Ishtaa turned to look.

"Quinn."

He was badly bruised, with kolto bandages clearly showing under his open, tattered uniform, and using a cane to limp across the room. But he was alive.

He managed to lower his head in a small, jerky bow. "My lord."

Ishtaa found her eyes being drawn to a cut across his lower lip. She automatically began to raise her arm to touch it—but then she remembered…

For once, it was her turn to blush. "What happened?" she asked.

"Captain Quinn must be commended." Ishtaa and Quinn both jumped a little bit before turning to face the Sith. They had almost forgotten he was in the room. "While the rest of your crew escorted me to safety, he took on the assailant with no mortal concern."

Quinn seemed flustered by the attention. His cheeks turned pink and he had to cough to clear his throat. "I'm…making up for a past indiscretion."

Say something. What Ishtaa really wanted to do was help him back to the med center and get him cleaned up, and then take him back to the Fury and kiss away everything that had happened. But there was a war on, it hadn't even been two weeks since he'd tried to kill her, and her better judgment won out.

"What happens now?"

"Baras' agents are neutralized." She had directed the question at Vowrawn, but Quinn answered—and he seemed to be holding back a smile. "You have brought us to the end game, my friend. It's time for us both to go on the offensive."

"Both? You mean separately?"

"Captain Quinn will be leading the charge in the battle for Corellia," said Vowrawn. "I had the chance to look at his record when I was on the Fury…most impressive…"

Ishtaa brushed past the digression. "What will I be doing then?"

"In a secret lair on this planet, Baras has bound and indentured an ancient Sith spirit." Vowrawn folded his hands, lip curling in disgust. "He feeds on this spirit's power, stealing all her visions of the future. Everything he has built has come from her insights."

"What stopped you from acting on this before?"

"His defenses are formidable, my lord." Quinn handed her a datapad that was rotating through schematics. "Ordinarily, it would take a small army to penetrate the complex."

"I take it that our strike will not be under 'ordinary' circumstances then," Ishtaa said, watching Vowrawn for a reaction.

"Quite right. Your friend Vette has arranged for a small 'accident' that will damage Republic communications and herd Republic troops towards Baras' compound. His guards will have no choice but to defend, which eliminates a small number of Republic troops…"

"…and keeps Baras' men busy while we slip inside. Brilliant." Ishtaa leaned forward. "When do we start?"

"Preparations are well underway. Shadow has indicated that Armageddon Batallion is ready to strike, and all active troops on the ground have been recalled in preparation for the attack. We should be ready to launch within the day.

"Good. Make for base camp. Keep me informed of any new developments." Her gaze flitted over Quinn's injuries. "Though I'd suggest a visit to the medcenter before you do anything else. And a new uniform." Her lips quirked up at the corners. "We wouldn't want you to be mistaken for rebel riff-raff.

He began to reply defensively. "I—" He caught the gleam in Ishtaa's eye and stopped speaking. "No, I suppose that would be unfortunate. I'll look into it." He bowed. "Fight well, my lord."

Ishtaa watched him go with a pang. But there were more important matters to tend to. She turned to Vowrawn. "So. Tell me about this spirit in Baras' lair."


	39. Corellia

The tailor made one last adjustment before removing the pins from his mouth.

"You're all set, sir."

"Thank you." Quinn smoothed out the front of his jacket before turning side to side in front of the mirror. It had been a while since he'd gotten a new uniform, much less a  _fitted_ one. He straightened the insignia pin on his lapel with a smile. As much as he enjoyed being captain of the  _Fury_ , he had missed this-the precision, the discipline. The Imperial military had been a part of his life almost as long as he could remember. It was good to be back.

The curtains behind him were suddenly whipped open, and a bright blue someone darted into the dressing room.

She mock-whistled. "Look at you!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "It's appropriate to knock when someone of the opposite sex is dressing."

" _Ppffft._ You're not dressing. You were just strutting around in front of the mirror."

"I was-I did no such thing!" Quinn almost turned back to the mirror for a final uniform check, but then he got a glimpse of Vette's clothing out of the corner of his eye. He hesitated. "What is that?"

Vette bounced on the balls of her feet. "Uniform," she said cheerily.

It  _was_ technically a uniform, but it was arranged like no uniform he had ever seen. Her coat was mostly unbuttoned to reveal a casual top, her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, she had snipped the fingers off of her gloves, and in addition to the regulation leg holster, there was a munitions belt slung low around her hips. He didn't  _want_ to know where she had found  _that_. "That's not-Vette, there are protocols about this sort of thing-"

She puffed out her chest and started imitating him. "Oh, ho! There are  _protocols_ about this sort of thing!" He would never admit it, but her Imperial accent had improved slightly.

Instead, he crossed his arms. "Where did you even get a uniform?" he asked. "You're not a member of the Imperial military."

"Correction!" Vette said, holding up a finger. "I  _wasn't_ a member of the Imperial military." She resumed bouncing, closing her eyes and smiling proudly. "I've just been instated as the Chief Artifact Locator and Code Technician for the Office of Twi'lek Affairs."

"There  _is_ no 'Office of Twi'lek Affairs!'"

"Really? That's weird, 'cause it was in the computer a few minutes ago when they signed off on my uniform."

Quinn sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation.  _Of course it was._  Why did he expect anything else? He shook his head before opening the flap of the tent. "Just don't cause any trouble at the briefing," he said wearily.

She snapped into a flamboyant salute. "You got it!"

* * *

 

"Here we are."

Vette raised an eyebrow at the plain gray burlap. "Is this it?"

"Conditions don't vary much between officer and soldier in the field. The Admiral gets a standard-issue tent just like everyone else."

"Except admirals don't share."

"Well, yes, but that comes with the territory. Tactical meetings are always held in private. Soldiers on the ground don't need to know that their commanding officers are at each other's throats behind closed doors."

"Yeah. It'd be kind of weird to have a serious meeting where everyone's sitting on bunk beds."

He sputtered a little at the absurdity of her comment. He would never cease to wonder at the bizarre directions her train of thought went. Then again, she wasn't  _wrong_. He settled for a diplomatic tone. "I...suppose it would be."

Quinn raised the tent flap to let Vette through. He followed shortly behind, only to stop in his tracks.

There was a man in formal garments standing in the middle of the tent, far too young to be the Admiral. His short, rust-colored cape flapped a little as he stepped into Quinn's personal space, seemingly oblivious to the blue girl who only just managed to step out of his way.

"So it's true. Baras' former pet attempts to usurp my rightful command with the 'disgrace of Druckenwell.'"

Quinn kept his face impassive. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said evenly.

The young man's lip curled into a sneer beneath his straight, proud nose. "I should expect no less," he sniffed. "All the riffraff they let into the ranks nowadays, hardly surprising that upstarts like you wouldn't know their betters when they meet them."

 _An upstart._ By his estimation, the young man couldn't have been more than 24, probably younger. If the state of his clothes and babyish, unscathed skin were anything to go by, the boy had probably never seen a real battle in his life. The insult would have been funny if not for the fact that he could probably have Quinn executed at the drop of a hat.

The boy seemed not to notice Quinn's appraising eye, and continued. "I am Lord Malik of House Pascherre," he said, "and by order of Darth Baras I am here to lead the charge against the Corellian resistance."

Vette scoffed. "What, the old man doesn't have better things to do than send spoiled nobles on a power trip?"

Quinn blanched.  _Vette, no!_ But before he had a chance to tell her off or smooth things over, Malik had brought the back of his hand around to slap Vette with a resounding  _SMACK_.

To her credit, she hardly even winced at the contact, but Quinn recognized the telltale sheen of unbidden tears when she had recovered from the blow.

"Insolent rat-tail."

Malik surged forward to grip Vette by the collar...only to find that his own collar was caught in Quinn's unwavering grip.

"What do you think you're doing? Get your filthy hands-"

"I will remove my hand when I am convinced that you can behave yourself," Quinn snapped in a clear voice. Whatever choice words were stewing on Malik's tongue died out in surprise, and he stared mutely at the captain.

Quinn let go of Malik's collar with a shove, but his glare remained fixed on the noble's face. "If I ever see you ever disrespect one of Lord Ishtaa's crew again, I will kill you."

Malik smoothed out the front of his robes. "How  _dare_ you?" he asked. The pitch of his voice didn't change, but somehow it still came across like a shrill whine. "Did you hear me? I am Lord Malik of House Pascherre, and my father will not stand for this! I am under Darth Baras' protection-"

"And  _he_ is under the protection of Darth Vowrawn. Or so I have been informed."

There was a second's delay before Quinn launched into a salute.

"Admiral," he said. "I didn't see you enter."

The older man waved his hand. "As you were," he said impatiently. Quinn lowered his arm somewhat sheepishly, and lowered his gaze as he entered parade rest. The Admiral turned to Malik with a weary look in his eye. "Lord Malik, I see you have insisted on sticking around."

"As I should," Malik sniffed. "I have orders from-"

"Yes, yes, we all know about your orders from Darth Baras." The Admiral sighed. "I suppose this puts me in a predicament, doesn't it?"

Quinn gave him a curious look. "Sir?"

"It seems that two Dark Council members have seen fit to appoint different leaders in the Battle of Corellia without clearing their plans with Darth Decimus  _or_ informing me. This leaves me in a difficult situation. As far as rank is concerned, Baras and Vowrawn are on equal footing. Whichever way I choose, I will earn the wrath of a Dark Council member."

"What about Darth Decimus, sir? Battle plans are his jurisdiction. His orders would supercede the wishes of other Dark Council members."

"In order to prevent SIS from intercepting our plans, we have temporarily suspended contact with the  _Tears of Taris_. The only things we are broadcasting to them are gibberish reports designed to confuse the Republic into thinking we've developed a new code."

Vette let out a sound halfway between a giggle and a snort. The officers turned to look at her curiously. "Sorry," she said. "Gibberish reports...There was a mental image. Ignore me."

"It's a clever plan," Quinn said, returning his attention to the Admiral. "But it somewhat complicates our problem."

"That it does."

Malik's lip was quivering with fury by now. "There is no problem," he burst out. "This is  _my_ operation! I should be the one giving orders, not this...this...common imbecile!"

A crack finally formed in the Admiral's calm demeanor, his eyes flashing ever so slightly. "That is not your call to make, Malik." He dropped the title, an omission not lost on the young man; he looked even more furious, if it were possible, than he had before the Admiral began his answer. "In the absence of a proper arbiter, we will have to find some other way of determining- _objectively_ -whose orders should prevail. Until that decision has been made, you will not presume to dictate which Dark Council member is more important than the other!"

"Admiral, if I might ask a question of Lord Malik to clarify the matter…"

"Clarify all you like," Malik scoffed. "It doesn't change my orders."

"And I wouldn't dream of arguing otherwise," Quinn said diplomatically. "However, I do question the wisdom of having someone with such rank in the field among the grunts and common soldiers. Wouldn't such work be a bit... _degrading_  to someone of your stature?"

"I…I don't need to be in the field to issue commands. I've studied battles. I know everything there is to know about tactics. I will issue my orders from here."

"The Captain raises a fair point, Lord Malik," the Admiral said seriously. "Schoolbook learning is all well and good, but circumstances can change quickly on the battlefield. We need someone on the ground to make snap decisions if need be. And Emperor forbid we should ask you to do something so beneath your dignity."

"I suggest a compromise," Quinn said. "Lord Malik will issue general battle plans and coordinate different units from here. You're seeing to it that Armageddon Battalion, Black Ops, and the main Imperial contingent don't step on each others' toes, he can do the same for individual units of the main contingent. Meanwhile, I will join the platoons on the front and lead them in the assault on the Green Jedi Enclave."

Malik laughed dryly. "You? Lead the ground troops to victory?"

"The plan is sound, Malik." The Admiral shot him a dark look. "You got what you wanted. You're in charge while the common upstart mucks around in the dirt. Now if there are no more questions, I suggest you get out of my tent."

Malik opened and closed his mouth pathetically as if he were trying to make a retort. Eventually he settled for a disparaging noise in his throat. " _Pah._ Fine. It's not as if they'll listen to you anyway. We'll see how well the soldiers obey  _Admiral Malcontent_ , embarrassment of the Imperial navy." And he stormed out of the tent.

Vette's eyes were bouncing between the Admiral and Quinn, waiting for one of them to speak.

Quinn broke the ice. "I am sorry you had to go through such trouble, sir."

"As am I." The Admiral smiled wanly. "The Empire would be a better place if all the nobles like him were replaced with good men and better sense like yours." He nodded. "You're dismissed."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Quinn's stomach churned as he left the tent.  _Better sense_. If only the Admiral knew… What sense was there in attacking a Sith Lord, much less trying to kill the woman who made him happier than he'd ever been in his life, the person he should have sworn to protect and serve before anything else?  _A good man._ He wasn't a good man. He was a coward. Worthless. Pathetic. Utterly-

Vette muttered something at him out of the corner of her mouth. "What's with all the stares?"

Quinn looked up, or rather, his vision cleared and he saw rather than staring into nothingness while he thought. He realized that all the men who had been bustling around before had fallen silent, and were staring at him as he made his way through the rows of tents and tables.

One nervous-looking private with a large Adam's apple gestured at him with a twitch of his eyes. "You're Captain Quinn, then? The one who served under Moff Broysc at Druckenwell?"

Quinn nodded mutely.

The private exchanged looks of awe and disbelief with his comrades, as a ripple of whispers made its way through the throng of soldiers.

As the murmurs began to die down, the private returned his gaze to Quinn, stood up straight, and saluted.

One by one, the other soldiers saluted too, until Quinn was faced with a small sea of men-some of them clean, some of them dirty, some of them showing the signs of recent battle-but all of them wearing the Imperial uniform, and all of them saluting Quinn with the same look of respect in their eyes.

His cheeks turned scarlet. "At ease," he said feebly. The response was much more sudden, and all the salutes dissipated in a matter of seconds.

The private watched Quinn eagerly. "What are your orders, Captain?"

Quinn swallowed and looked at Vette, lost for words. She nodded encouragingly.

Setting his jaw, he straightened and turned to face the crowd. "Eat up, rest well, and repair your weapons. This time tomorrow we will be standing on Imperial soil."


	40. Corellia

**Corellia**

Quinn stood by as a lieutenant surveyed the square through binoculars.

The young woman turned round. “All clear, sir. Troops are ready and waiting on your mark.”

“Thank you.” He glanced at Vette, who was looking much more focused than usual. “What about your trick? Is everything in place?”

“In place and ready to go,” she said confidently.

“Excellent.” Quinn picked up a com unit. “All units, this is Square One. Thunder is ready and in position.”

“Copy, Square One. Armageddon standing by.”

“Copy. Axial Park in position. Standing by.”

“Corners One and Two standing by.”

“Corner Three standing by.”

A familiar gruff voice came through. “Good to go here, Cap’n. Just give the word and we’ll blow this vent to hell.”

Vette craned her head towards Quinn’s com. “Good luck, Pierce. If you get to their data, I want a souvenir.”

“No promises. But I’ll see what I can do. Black Ops standing by.”

“That’s everyone.” Vette raised an eyebrow at Quinn. “You okay?”

He nodded, but looked a little sick. “Never commanded this many troops before,” he muttered under his breath.

“Come on, you’ll be fine. Besides, that stick up your butt’s so big we could probably take out half the Republic troops just by swinging it in a circle.”

Quinn eyeballed her but didn’t say anything in reply. Instead he took up the com once more. “This is Square One,” he said. “Armageddon and Black Ops have their orders. The rest of you: I don’t want to lose any more men than we have to. Find cover and use it. Not only will it keep you safe, but it will improve your accuracy. There’s going to be a lot of men and women on this field and I don’t want any friendly fire. Pick your shots and make them count.” He glanced at Vette. She gestured for him to finish up. “I have complete faith that we can achieve victory here today,” he said. “Let us take Corellia, and together we can bring this world the glory it deserves.” He paused. “For the Empire.”

“For the Empire!”

“For the Empire!”

A new voice entered the fray, rich and confident. “For the Empire.” Quinn’s heart did a strange beat, sudden worry twisting in his chest that had nothing to do with the success of the mission. He looked into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—something, _anything_ so he would know her location on the battlefield, so he could keep an eye on her. It was useless, of course. Wherever she was with respect to Baras’ bunker, she had concealed herself well. Realizing that he had no way of keeping an eye on her, he settled for a silent, pleading thought. _Be safe, my lord._

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he turned to Vette. “On your mark.”

She nodded, now looking a little sick herself.

She took a deep breath…and pushed the button.

All hell broke loose. Even at a distance, Quinn could hear the explosion and the shouts of Republic troops that immediately followed.

He grabbed the com. “ _GO._ ”

The troops poured forward in a surge, blasters and rifles at the ready. Securing a blaster in his holster, Quinn raced after them, with Vette hot on his tail. They caught up with the middle of the group just as they were entering the square proper.

He glimpsed a Republic uniform at the other end of the square.

“GET TO COVER.”

His orders were repeated in a flurry of shouts. In twos and threes, Imperial soldiers hunkered down behind pillars and planter boxes, listening for the sound of incoming fire.

Quinn scanned the battlefield for stray troops, looking to see that everyone had found a position.

The distinctive sound of a blaster shot rang out, and Quinn felt something hot whistle past, just missing his left bicep.

He grabbed Vette’s arm and dragged her behind a pillar. “Get down!” He drew his blaster and started to aim.

His concentration was shattered by the sounds of more blaster fire right in his ear. The Republic soldier who had shot at Quinn dropped dead. He turned towards the source of the blaster fire to see Vette, grinning with her hip cocked at a jaunty angle as she held both blasters in a resting position.

He rubbed his ear. “Was that really necessary?" 

She smirked. “You’re welcome.” Her face became serious again as she looked across the battlefield. She straightened, pressing herself against the pillar. “They’re coming.”

Quinn rolled his shoulders and, his back against the pillar, took a deep breath in the eye of the storm.

* * *

 

Ishtaa heard the sounds of blaster fire echoing through the city. She looked down from where she and Jaesa had perched to see Baras’ guards, shouting at each other in a panic and hurriedly grabbing weapons before running off in a mismatched group to face the oncoming Republic troops.

She looked to her apprentice. “Now?”

Jaesa nodded. “Now.”

Ishtaa untucked her legs from her crouched position and slid feet-first to the opening of their hiding space. “Stay close,” she said, and she dropped to the ground. Jaesa followed soon behind her.

Their lightsabers were drawn before their feet touched the ground. Before the remaining guards had time to process what was happening, the two Sith were back-to-back, yellow and green blades swirling about in a sphere of destruction.

The guards were dispatched in a matter of seconds.

They moved through the compound quickly, what little resistance they met easily done away with.

Vowrawn had received their signal, and was waiting for them just outside the inner sanctum.

“I must commend that Twi’lek friend of yours,” he said jovially. “It was excellent work on her part, that distraction. I don’t think I met a single guard on my way in.”

“You made it without incident, I take it?”

Vowrawn laughed. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I am all in one piece. Even if there had been guards, I didn’t make my way to the Dark Council by being feeble.”

Ishtaa nodded. “Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the enormous doors.

There was a chill when they entered the room. With every step, Ishtaa felt a little twist in her chest, a little shot of adrenaline rushing into her bloodstream. She could almost hear her darkest moments calling out to her, promising to bring blood and fury back into her life. It felt… _wrong_.

“There she is,” Vowrawn said reverently, “the Entity. Such pure, dark-side energy. Is she not utterly beautiful?”

Ishtaa looked up at the woman suspended between the pillars without much interest, but gave a weak noise of assent so as to avoid offending Vowrawn. She was distracted. Even though she had stopped approaching the Entity, she could still feel the dark energy growing stronger at a steady, thudding pace, like footsteps.

She felt Jaesa move towards her lightsaber.

“We are not alone,” she said, sounding shaken.

A massive figure, cloaked in gray and red, entered the room and threw Vowrawn across the room.

Jaesa and Ishtaa hurried to help him to his feet, but he was already pinned in midair, trapped in a glowing red cage of energy.

The massive figure spoke in a deep voice that was all-too-familiar. “At last,” he said, drawing his lightsabers. “I’ve caught up to you again. Finally, I will have revenge.”

Ishtaa turned to glare at him. His once-handsome face had been marred by scarring and cybernetics, his eyes replaced by gleaming red lasers that were fixed on Ishtaa’s face.

She ignited her lightsabers and began pacing about in a circle, sizing up Lord Draahg while he did the same to her. She twirled the blades uneasily. She hadn’t expected to face Lord Draahg again, and if she had, it would have been in a crippled state. The man before her now was far from crippled: he was a machine, and a machine that she had never fought before.

She felt Jaesa lingering around the edges of the room, watching the standoff between her master and her foe. Ishtaa didn’t have to look at her to know that she would be using her power to feel the balance and shift of intent in the circle, waiting for the right moment to strike. But she couldn’t let Draahg know that was the case.

“I’ve defeated you before,” she said coldly, “and I can do it again.” It was a weak barb, but it served its purpose.

Draahg sneered, baring teeth that looked as though they had been filed down into points. “Haven’t I made it clear? I cannot be killed, least of all by you.”

“Leaves more for me.” Jaesa leapt into the fray before she had even finished speaking. She must have used her power well: Draahg was caught off-balance, and had to flurry his blades rapidly in order to fend off Jaesa’s fluid attacks.

In his frenzy to eliminate Jaesa, he left his back entirely open. Ishtaa took her opportunity to strike, and threw herself into the battle with a wild cry.

The room became a blur of light: green, red, yellow, all muddled together in the frantic choreography.

Ishtaa landed a blow across Draahg’s back, and met solid metal. Sparks flew everywhere. When the embers had cleared, Ishtaa was able to see her handiwork: a cybernetic part, completely intact.

She reoriented herself so she was close to Jaesa’s ear. “Watch where you strike. The cybernetics—they won’t cut. You have to go for the flesh.”

Jaesa nodded, and Ishtaa saw the determined furor in her deep brown eyes. Master and apprentice re-entered the fight with newfound purpose.

Draahg was surprisingly light on his feet, but the women were faster, and they moved with the perfect synchronization of dancers. Without speaking, each knew what move the other was about to make. Draahg wasn’t fighting against a pair; he was fighting against one unit.

With a cry of frustration, he threw his fist to the ground, sending out a shockwave that caught his opponents off-guard and threw them back. With a feral grin, he reached out in the Force and raised the pieces of the floor that he had just crushed, hurling them across the room towards the two women.

Jaesa’s eyes widened. “Look out!” She threw herself behind a pillar. Looking across the room, she saw Ishtaa roll out of the path of an oncoming stone behind a pillar on the opposite side. For several seconds, neither of them could move: they were trapped, looking at each other with wide eyes and panting for breath, as the onslaught of stones and rubble went on.

* * *

 

The battle for Corellia was raging. The sound of blasters and grenades, the smell of smoke, filled the air, reducing the area to a gray cloud punctuated by red and green bolts of light.

Quinn’s advance was beginning to slow. The visibility meant that he had no choice but to sprint in tiny bursts from box to box, with no hope of a longer range plan until he could get clear of the smoke. To make matters worse, casualties were beginning to show. He had to stop several times to slap a kolto bandage on some wounded soldier, while Vette stood watch and fired just enough rounds to keep enemies from advancing on their position.

Vette rose from behind cover to fire off several rounds. None of them landed, but there was no chance to try again—she dropped quickly to avoid a barrage of rapid-fire shots that flew over her head.

Quinn finished tying off a bandage with his teeth. He stowed his medical supplies and drew his weapon. “Stay put,” he said to the soldier sharply. “You don’t stand a chance on that leg. Just stay in cover and pick off any Republic troops that get too close.”

The soldier nodded mutely.

Quinn’s holo beeped. He pulled it out.

A miniature Pierce appeared. Quinn could hear garbled shouts and the sound of more gunfire. Pierce turned away from the holo to shout something on his end.  “ _Keep firing, dammit! We need to hold them off!_ ”

“What’s happened?” Quinn asked.

“We’ve hit a snag. Arlos tripped a security system breaking in. They’ve got mechs firing on us from all sides. We’ve lost men and some of our weapons are starting to malfunction. There’s—” His voice turned to the fry of static. Noise began to distort his image on the holo. “—need reinforcements!”

Vette drew her second pistol and shifted from her knees to a crouch. “I’ll go help.”

Quinn took one look at the battlefield. “You’re mad.”

“It’s the only chance we’ve got!” she shouted. “If we don’t get those arms from the Bastion, we don’t stand a chance in the Enclave.” She and Quinn ducked in unison as a Republic shell hit the ground a few hundred meters away.  “I can slice into the system and undo whatever they set off. Maybe even turn it on its head.”

He considered her for a moment, then—reluctantly—nodded, setting his jaw. He reached into his medpack. “You’ll need these,” he said, handing her several stims and kolto packs. “I’ll watch for an opening and tell you when to run. Good luck.”

Vette took the supplies with a nod. Then she saluted him—without so much as a trace of sarcasm—and peered out over the edge of the crate.

Quinn watched with her, waiting for the right moment to signal. There was a moment of intense fire, followed by a lull. A breeze swept across the field and cleared the smoke.

It was the opening they needed.

“Go!”

Vette didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted away faster than Quinn had ever seen her run, firing over her shoulder, darting over and around obstacles the way only one raised in an urban minefield could.

* * *

 

All of a sudden, the bombardment of rocks stopped.

Ishtaa glanced at Jaesa for guidance. The apprentice shook her head.

Ishtaa swallowed silently. _What was he playing at?_

She could hear his footsteps approaching slowly. Each footfall seemed to her unnaturally loud.

“You know, when I met you, I thought you exceptionally powerful. I even considered putting my plan to overthrow Baras into action then and there. With you as my apprentice, I would have had the edge I needed.”

Ishtaa scoffed. “You honestly think I would have joined you?”

“I wouldn’t have put it so plainly. I know you’re smarter than that. I would have put on a charade. Played you, and strung you along, until you were so wrapped around my finger that you would do anything to help me…even kill Baras.”

He was needling her. She kept her voice flat without much effort. “I have better taste than that.”

“Clearly.” He paused a moment, letting the barb sink in. “But it doesn’t matter.” His voice was getting closer. Whatever she was going to do, she had to think of it fast. “I realized long ago that my time would be wasted having you as an apprentice. I’m only amazed it took Baras so long to figure it out himself. You’re weak. And you have no more allegiance to the dark side than that Jedi apprentice.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need it,” she spat.

“Neither do I!”

Draahg whirled around in surprise as Jaesa leapt out from behind the pillar to strike from behind.

Ishtaa’s eyes widened. “Jaesa, no!”

It was too late. Draahg had acted on reflex, and the arm that he had drawn back to crush Ishtaa came around to hit Jaesa instead. She watched helplessly as a giant flagstone slammed into Jaesa’s chest, throwing her back against a wall, where she hit her head and slid to the floor.

Draahg went after her with a snarl, his lightsabers held at the ready as he went in for the kill.

* * *

 

Quinn looked over in alarm as yet another man fell with a strangled cry. He could tell from this distance that there was nothing he could do to save him: the man was going to die, if he hadn’t already.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed the lump in his throat. It was no use. He was losing men left and right, and the fog of smoke was only getting thicker, the red bolts of Republic blasters growing closer and more numerous every second.

There was nothing else for it.

“Retreat!” he bellowed.

There were shouts of confusion and protest. A nearby lieutenant moved as if to run to him and argue.

Quinn gestured for the man to get down. “We’ve lost too many men!” he shouted. “Fall back to the rear line and contact Lord Pascherre, he’ll coordinate with the other units!” His stomach lurched as he realized the mockery he would have to endure from the pompous boy, and the reprimands from command, should he return after ordering a retreat. _The Empire before your pride. There are lives at stake._ He grabbed a rifle from a fallen soldier nearby. “Get the injured out of here! I’ll lay down suppressing fire and hold them off!”

A chorus of voices started up as his orders were relayed along the front lines. He watched as a wave of soldiers began to stand up with other men draped over their shoulders.

He turned the automatic gun to the Republic line and began to fire.

* * *

 

Draahg stood over Jaesa’s unconscious figure, smirking before the expression twisted into an ugly grimace. He raised his lightsabers up to ready for the kill stroke. “Baras said she forms bonds through the Force. I wonder how much pain her bond will cause you when she dies.”

Ishtaa dived at him with a horrified scream.

If the trio’s fight earlier had been fast, this was lightning. The two slashed and spun at each other with unchecked ferocity. Each of their parries transitioned seamlessly into another attack.

Their blades locked, and after a few seconds of vicious struggle, they broke apart, each sliding back several feet across the marble floor.

Ishtaa glimpsed Vowrawn out of the corner of her eye. His maroon complexion was growing chalky with an unhealthy tinge of lavender.

She returned her gaze to Draahg. He seemed to be glowing with rage, gearing himself up for a brutal attack. She knew that she would never be able to withstand the pure might of his enormous frame.

Her gaze hardened. With all the strength she could muster she twirled around and threw herself forward—not overhead in a leap, but between his legs, spread wide in a supportive stance.. Before he had time to react, she skidded onto her knees and up on her feet, barreling into a sprint and raising one lightsaber with every ounce of strength she had.

She brought the blade down through his neck with a sickening noise. She watched over his shoulder as the pupils of his cybernetic eyes widened in surprise and then went dark.

He collapsed to the ground with a solid and very final _thump_.

* * *

 

Republic soldiers fell beneath Quinn’s gun like dominoes. Ten, twelve, thirteen…

Something jammed. The gun began to slow and, finally, stopped.

He rapped on the gun in frustration. “No, no…Not now…” There were still at least a dozen Imperials who hadn’t retreated, refusing to leave quickly in spite of his orders. He had to get them out. “No!”

The enemy shots stopped and the smoke cleared. A line of Republic troops in heavy armor approached, guns drawn and pointed directly at Quinn.

Some of the remaining Imperials raised their guns as if to shoot. Quinn shook his head and gestured for them to lower their weapons. Perhaps from prison they could escape. There was no escape from death.

A Republic officer stepped forward. “Take the remaining troops into custody. If they resist, kill them.

Two of the troopers grabbed Quinn roughly by the upper arms and began to drag him to his feet.

The officer noticed. “Not him. We have orders. This one can’t be kept alive.”

The troopers dropped Quinn, shoving him to his knees.

Protests rose up from the Imperial stragglers. Some of them began to struggle, wrestling to get free from their captors.

“Stand down!” Quinn ordered sharply. “That’s an order.” There was a brief pause and the struggling stopped.

“Right then.” The officer took a datapad from one of the troopers attending him. “Captain Malavai Quinn, you have been captured by the 3rd Regiment of the Corellian resistance and Republic army on Corellia. In light of your master’s ability and persistence, the Green Jedi Enclave has ordered that you should be executed in order to prevent an otherwise inevitable escape.” The officer lowered his datapad. “Do you have any last words?”

Quinn’s heart pounded. Suddenly he regretted his earlier conversation with her. He should have kissed her one last time while he had the chance. _Tell Ishtaa I love her. Tell her and the rest of the crew to be safe. Tell Pierce to protect her no matter what happens._

_No_. His cheeks burned with shame. No sense in dragging up old feelings that she would never return. If he was to die, he could at least do it with some dignity.

But before he could open his mouth and decline the offer, an enormous shot rang out.

Quinn’s eyes snapped open, and he turned to look as a crowd of armored vehicles approached the square, followed by—

It was. Black Ops had arrived, along with what looked like half of Armageddon Battalion.

As he watched, a small blue figure poked out from over the top of a tank and turned to look directly at him…just in time to see him give a sincere solute, with nothing but pride written in his eyes.


	41. Fury

**Corellia**

Quinn pressed his lips together in concentration as he put the finishing touches on Jaesa’s stitches. Then he pulled the thread taut and deftly snipped it just above the skin.

“You’ve been patched up,” he said, rolling his shoulders back as he stood up. “Mind the cut until it’s healed. The bruises should take care of themselves.”

She bowed her head in thanks. “I will do that. Thank you.”

Quinn removed his gloves and turned to throw them out. He hesitated mid-turn when he saw Ishtaa standing in the doorway.

He bowed slightly. “My lord.”  

“Captain.” Ishtaa nodded in reply.

Quinn’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. He stood there twisting the gloves in his hands for a few seconds, like he was unsure what to say. Then he seemed to think better of it. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better go check on the rest of the crew. Excuse me.”

Jaesa waited until he had disappeared from earshot before she spoke.

“He cares very deeply for you,” she said.

Ishtaa lowered her eyes. “I know,” she said in a quiet voice. She could sense that Jaesa was about to press the issue, so she forced herself to put on a bright smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better now that I’m cleaned up. Though there’s not much to be done for my head except rest and sleep it off.”

That earned a real smile.

Jaesa, however, didn’t seem to see the humor. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Ishtaa frowned at her. “Sorry?”

Jaesa avoided eye contact, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have charged at Draahg the way I did. My plan was to wait until I sensed an opportunity but…my feelings got the better of me.”

 _Oh. That._ Ishtaa knelt alongside the cot, looking up so she could see the girl’s face even with her eyes lowered to the ground. “I suppose you didn’t see what _I_ did once you were knocked out, then.”

Jaesa laughed softly.

Ishtaa smiled too, but beneath the smile, she gave her apprentice a serious look. “Jaesa, there’s no shame in being protective of the people you care about. When done appropriately, it can make strong men stronger and the brave even braver. There is nothing so dangerous on the battlefield as a friend or a lover and their care.” She hesitated, and a note of sadness crept into her voice. “You just can’t let it blind your better judgment.”

“What about you?” Jaesa looked at Ishtaa intently. “Has Baras blinded your better judgment?”

Ishtaa sighed. “He did, for a time. What he did…to me, to my family…” _To Quinn_ … She took a breath to brace herself. “But I’ve learned now that such hatred can only lead to more suffering. I _will_ kill Baras, but for justice’ sake. I won’t let him walk free, or throw him in prison just so he can break loose and wreak havoc on the galaxy.” She paused. “I don’t _get_ to kill Baras. I _have_ to.”

She realized that Jaesa was still staring at her with that piercing look of hers. Uncomfortable, she got up off the floor. “I should go. I have matters to attend to before we can leave.”

She expected Jaesa to accept the farewell, but she stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “Ishtaa...I just thought you should know, that I am proud to call you my master.”

Ishtaa blinked, taken aback. Then she clasped Jaesa’s hands and smiled. “And you my apprentice,” she said, bowing her head. 


	42. Dromund Kaas

**Dromund Kaas**

“Come in.”

Quinn opened the door and looked around tentatively.

Ovech glanced up. “Ah, good. You’re here.” He gestured to a seat across his desk. “Sit, we have a lot to talk about.”

Quinn was still looking about the room as he sat, noting the many medals adorning the wall. “You’ve been busy,” he said mildly.

“I have,” said Ovech, “but not in the field I’m afraid. Those are all from my time as a Major. Lately most of my work has been behind a desk.  Broysc left quite a mess to be cleaned up.”

Quinn bowed his head in assent. Ovech finally sighed and set down the datapads he had been examining, leaning back in his chair to study Quinn.

“You remember the last time we talked, I suppose?”

“I do.”

Ovech crossed his hands on his desk, leaning forward. “Have you considered the matter we discussed?”

“I have.”

“And your answer?”

Quinn hesitated. “Unchanged, sir.”

Ovech laughed dryly, rubbing his face with both hands and leaning back in his chair. It creaked and swung off to one side with the motion. “You never fail to astonish.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Ovech leaned in intently. “I’ve practically offered you the galaxy, Quinn. Not once, buttwicenow. Any ship, any post you want. Hell, your name would have been in the running for my position now if you and your _Sith errant_ hadn’t been on the run when Broysc mysteriously died.”

Quinn had flinched at the words “your Sith.” It didn’t escape Ovech’s notice. He pressed on.

“Come on, Quinn. What do you say? Any post. Any at all.”

He stared at the ground, thinking. “Very well.” He raised his gaze. “I suppose…since Lord Ishtaa’s role in the Empire has changed, and I doubt she will want me to remain on the _Fury_ , I might as well _choose_ my next post.” He paused. “I will return to Balmorra.”

“What?”

Quinn swallowed. “I request transfer to Balmorra. I wish to resume my position at Sobrik station.”

“My stars, have you finally developed a sense of humor?”

Quinn kept his face blank by way of answer.

Ovech rose and moved to stand next to him, leaning against the desk. “You’re mad,” he said. “Quinn, Balmorra is a _rock_. There’s a reason you were put there after Druckenwell. It’s a cesspool.”

“I know.”

“Then _why?_ Why would you want to go back there?”

Quinn stared at the wall, his chin kept high in defiance. “It’s where I belong,” he said flatly. He stood up. “I will return to the barracks and await orders.” He snapped into a salute before turning to leave the room.

“I will be here if you change your mind,” called Ovech.

Quinn gave a weak smile in the doorway. “That seems unlikely. But…thank you.” He gave a polite bow of his head and left.

He walked towards the taxi stand without seeing; reminding himself over and over again what he had told himself from the moment he had arrived in Ovech’s office. _It’s for the best._ He had done his duty to help Ishtaa in her mission, and the mission was over. She didn’t need him anymore. Now it was time to move on. For the Empire.

“Quinn.”

He spun around, heart pounding, to see a woman wearing regal robes that did not befit the weather, holding an umbrella to shield her elegant hairdo and shockingly white makeup from the rain. He might not have recognized her if it wasn’t for her voice, but he had committed that sound to heart. It was _her_. He caught himself starting to reach up, to smooth down the stubborn lock of hair that was always out of place. He kicked himself mentally for the impulse. He changed the movement into a bow at the last moment, one arm in front of his stomach. “My lord.” _She’s not_ your _lord anymore._ He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I didn’t recognize you with the…” He gestured lamely at her dress and coiffed hair. He blushed. It might have been his imagination, but her eyes seemed to crinkle up in a grimace of vicarious embarrassment. He desperately changed the subject. “I, er…I take it you’re here on Sith business.”

Ishtaa nodded. “Yes,” she said. “The, um…the Citadel is right there,” she said, pointing behind the taxi stand unnecessarily.

Quinn’s flush deepened. “Ah. Of course. How silly of me not to notice.”

She gave a strained smile. “I assume you were here on business as well?”

“Yes, I…I just spoke with Major Ovech. I’m to receive new orders shortly.”

“Oh.” This time it must have been his imagination. There was no reason her face should have fallen like that at his words. “Well, I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He noticed suddenly that a taxi had arrived and was waiting at the platform, the droid holding the door open expectantly. “Apologies, I shouldn’t keep you. Farewell.” He bowed once more and continued walking towards the civilian taxi stand.

“Quinn…”

He turned around too eagerly. “Yes, my lord?”

“This new assignment,” she began hesitantly, “it’s going to have me traveling across the galaxy, into dangerous territory. I could use a good captain.” She paused. “It would be an honor to have you back on the _Fury_.”

“I see.” He tried to keep his face composed, but in the effort to keep his voice even, he could feel a smile creeping across his features. “Very well. I will inform my superiors and report to the ship for departure.”

Ishtaa’s face lit up. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. She glanced at the taxi. The droid wouldn’t honk at a Sith, but there was a definite twitch of impatience in its visual sensors. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Captain.”

“I look forward to it.”

Ishtaa grinned, flashing teeth that looked pearly white against burgundy lips. “Until then, farewell.”

Quinn watched as she got into the taxi and flew away. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a sigh, still smiling like an idiot. Then it dawned on him all of a sudden that he was standing out in the open, in the rain, and his uniform was getting very wet.

He shrugged it off as he turned around and walked back to the office. Ovech was an old friend. He’d understand.

* * *

 

Ishtaa could feel her hands shaking in spite of herself as she waited outside the ceremonial chambers.

After all this time, it almost didn’t feel real…she was free, and justice had been served. Not only that, but she was _the Emperor’s Wrath_. Once the ceremony was over, she would have the power to shape the entire Empire. Suddenly, the crazy dreams that she and Jaesa had discussed didn’t seem so crazy.

She felt a pressure on her hand. Her eyes widened as she looked down and then up, following the length of a glowing blue arm.

“Father?” she whispered.

He smiled. “Well done, Ishtaa.”

A familiar figure appeared on his right, happier than Ishtaa had ever seen her.

“We’re so proud of you, darling.”

Ishtaa laughed a little bit, but tears pricked at her eyes. “I just wish you could be here for real.”

Her mother frowned. “But this _is_ real. We’re here. We always have been.”

“And we _will_ be with you, always.”

Ishtaa nodded, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand hurriedly, trying not to smear the elaborate makeup that had been painted on her face. “I love you. Both of you.”

“We know,” Sehenna said quietly. She looked over at the sound of a fanfare. “The ceremony’s starting.”

Ishtaa nodded again, swallowing the thickness in her throat and putting on a brave face. She took a deep breath, and let it out shuddering. She could do this. She was the Emperor’s Wrath. And she would change the galaxy.

As soon as the doors opened, all her doubts fell away. Her every footstep radiated power. She could feel the eyes of everyone watching her widen when she passed, awestruck.

She kept her chin high and looked straight ahead, grinning a little when she saw Vowrawn surrounded by her crew, ready and waiting for her. There was Pierce, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the clean ceremonial armor someone had forced him into. Vette too looked very much unlike her usual self in a sheer dress that floated over her trousers, her usual headpiece replaced with white ribbons wrapped around her lekku.

Ishtaa had to suppress a giggle when she saw Broonmark. She could only imagine the trouble Jaesa had gone to get him cleaned, but it had paid off: his white fur was straight and shiny. Someone had even draped a sash across one shoulder, his medals from Corellia glinting in the light.

Quinn looked as dashing as he always did. Vowrawn, in the middle, seemed to be wearing his normal council robes. And then there was Jaesa on Vowrawn’s left, set back a little bit from where the rest of the line was. She smiled shyly when she saw Ishtaa, hiding behind her bangs. Then Ishtaa noticed: underneath her hood, the strands of hair that usually framed the left side of her face had been wound together in a braid, two beads of gold and pearly white sparkling off the end.

She felt sentimental tears pricking at her eyes again, but forced them to remain down. _My brave Jedi apprentice_.

She had reached the foot of the front stairs and began to slowly climb them, careful not to step on the trail of her dress. When she reached the top, she found herself face to face with Lord Vowrawn, who smiled at her warmly.

“Congratulations,” he whispered.

She couldn’t reply without moving her lips. Instead she smiled a little bit wider, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Vowrawn turned to an attending acolyte, who stood waiting with an engraved box. Vowrawn carefully reached into the box, and lifted out a gold circlet. Holding it out with his fingertips, he delicately placed it over Ishtaa’s head. Then he turned to another acolyte, who handed him a thin-hilted lightsaber, engraved and inlaid with stones. He met Ishtaa’s gaze and smiled in triumph as he placed the saber in her waiting hands. He gestured for her to turn around.

Her heart pounded as she turned to face the crowd. Vowrawn’s voice rang out behind her.

“All hail the Emperor’s Wrath!”

She ignited the lightsaber in a flash of gold and held it out before her, the applause washing over her in waves as the fanfare built up, heralding the beginning of a new era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ishtaa's story will continue in a sequel.


End file.
